


What's Left Behind

by prisoner_of_conscience



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Angels Are Dicks Except For Cas, Angst, ArchAngel Michael - Freeform, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Castiel Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Dean Trying to be Positive, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Siblings, Dean is afraid, Depressed Dean Winchester, Depressed Sam Winchester, Disabled Dean Winchester, Gen, Humor, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Medication, New Hunt, New Way of Life, Parental Jody Mills, Physical Disability, Protective Sam Winchester, Routine, Sam Tries to be Brave, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Seizures, Whump, hurt!Dean, season 14
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisoner_of_conscience/pseuds/prisoner_of_conscience
Summary: Dean will never be the same after Michael's possession. Michael left a crack in Dean's mind that remains open even after Michael's death. When the brothers realize that they might finally have to give up their way of life, a new hunt forces them to grapple with their new circumstances.Season 14 alternate timeline. Physically disabled Dean.Inspired by 14x10, Nihilism--Michael's line: "What do you think I'd leave behind? You'd be nothing but blood and bone."
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jody Mills & Dean Winchester, Jody Mills & Sam Winchester
Comments: 51
Kudos: 168





	1. Routines

**A/N:** AU set during season 14 when Michael is in and out of possessing Dean. 

Dean’s medical condition is intentionally non-specific and intended to be a mix of symptoms as his condition was supernaturally created. Medication names I got from some minimal research and the fact that I’m binging ER…

Medications do not work the way I’ve depicted them! I in NO WAY claim to know anything about medication, treatment etc… all I own is the hell I put these boys through

**WARNINGS:** Rather graphic depictions of a seizure.

( ) ( ) ( )

Dean’s hooked right arm adamantly lay upon his chest. Fingers tense and fisted, shoulder locked. Sam knew his brother couldn’t control it, but it was still annoying to work so hard at loosening muscles that he knew in a few hours would be clenched again. 

“..nooo s’ ‘ard.” _Not so hard_

Sam had become too familiar with his brother’s new language—it bothered him how easily he now understood the mangled speech. At Dean’s request, Sam lessened his grip, gently pulling the elbow away from his brother’s ribcage while pushing down on his shoulder at the same time. Dean breathed rhythmically, trying not to resist Sam’s efforts. Eventually, the tension lessened, his elbow hanging lower and his shoulder drooping as well. Next came his fist—the fingers clenching tightly onto nothing, but dedicated to the grasp nonetheless. Sam’s large hands covered his brother’s fist, wiggling his own fingers between the edge of Dean’s fingertips and his palm. Pulling back slowly, Sam untangled the mess of phalanges as Dean grunted in pain. 

“K..’p g..in. ‘m O.K.” _Keep going, I’m ok_

The worst part about Dean’s condition wasn’t the garbled speech or the hooked arm. It wasn’t the limp or the coordination. Not the seizures or the medication. Not even the pain.

It was the fact that Dean—the old Dean—unburdened Dean—was still inside. Healthy as ever. Dean’s mental capabilities hadn’t been hindered in any way. His brain functioned as normally and efficiently as before; he just couldn’t make his body do what he told it to do. 

So Dean spoke in fragmented sentences but he thought in unbroken prose.

He walked with a limp but had no problem following directions.

He felt his seizures coming and knew to lay himself down safely.

He read prescription bottles with ease and knew what to take when, even if he couldn’t open the bottle. 

So where did this leave Sam? In a constant state of trying to predict Dean’s needs, but not underestimating his brother’s capabilities; a thin tightrope to tread. But they both try. And that’s what matters. So Sam tells himself on Dean’s bad days--on days like today. 

They had two distinct routines (though Sam had a third that Dean wasn’t privy to) which they silently practiced. Today was no exception. 

Routine 1 was for good days: Sam would let Dean do things himself with the exception of things he couldn’t, which on those days was mostly limited to opening pill bottles and helping him get dressed. 

Routine 2 was for bad days--for days like today. Sam, with no prompting, did almost everything for Dean. Making food, helping him hold the fork, (or helping him with finger food if the shaking was too badly for utensils), walking beside him as a balance aid, monitoring his medication so Dean didn’t have to think about it, stretching and massaging his ever-tense muscles, and, occasionally, sitting with him when he just couldn’t get out of bed. 

Routine 3, whose existence Dean was unaware of, was reserved for days when Dean was fully capable of functioning at a decent capacity, but was too exhausted to do so. 

Sam made silent adjustments. Routine 3 looked a lot like Routine 1, except Sam would rearrange the pantry and fridge so that granola bars and bananas and hot dogs were more accessible than pesky lidded yogurts, or cereal that required both a spoon _and_ the pouring of milk. Sam would set the temperature to 65 because walking around made Dean sweat, and he’d leave prescription bottles sitting on the counter, caps un-tightened. The younger Winchester would make as many inconspicuous changes so that by the end of the day, Dean wasn’t so exhausted. He did it for his brother, yes, but it was also partially a selfish decision...without Routine 3, Dean would have so many more bad days--tiring himself unnecessarily and leaving them both suffering through more and more days of Routine 2. 

But regardless of the days that came before, today was still a bad day for the both of them. Dean had woken up in pain; enough that he took painkillers at breakfast (which he let Sam help him eat) and leaned heavily on his brother as he attempted to walk with his limp leg on the move back to his room. 

“You need anything? Wanna try and sleep?” Sam checked in, but knew there was little to be done...and it was only ten o’clock. “Want some water? You haven’t had much to drink, man.” Dehydration on Dean was not flattering. 

“..’k’.” Any kind of agreement Sam got was enough and he left his brother momentarily. Upon his return, Dean drank clumsily, the nipple of the Poland Springs bottle occasionally slipping out of his mouth. Sam saw as Dean gripped the bottle tighter with his good hand--agitation growing. Eventually giving up, Dean nodded for Sam to take it back. 

“..hay ‘his, ‘an” _Hate this, man_

“I know. But tomorrow there’s a COPS marathon so...you can look forward to that.” “..gon ash ‘t my ...” Unable to finish, Dean went silent, closing his eyes, frustration evident. He swallowed, then took a breath and attempted to enunciate. 

“ y’okes?”

Sam pieced together the fragmented thought: _Gonna laugh at my jokes?_

“Only if they’re funny, Dean.”

The two sat in comfortable silence, Sam noting that Dean’s breathing was a bit louder than usual--a bit more strained. Distracting himself more than anything, he proposed a question. 

“Whaddya wanna do today? Netflix? Research? Some hunter outta Oklahoma, Ted, I think, is hunting a ghoul. Asked for some info. Or, if you want, I can leave you alone if you wanna have some _you_ time ... watch some ‘Dean-approved-material’...” 

Sam attempted a smile but regretted his suggestion as soon as he said it, realizing why it was a bad day to have recommended _those_ particular activities. 

“..’ink ‘ll p-ass awn ‘hat un. Nooo ‘t oo cawr..n’ ted. W...ulln’t w-want to wisk ‘reaking ‘ha mer...shan-ice.” _I think I’ll pass on that one. Not too coordinated. Wouldn't want to risk breaking the merchandise._

Dean’s grin alleviated any and all of Sam’s worries and he was pleased when Dean suggested an alternative activity. 

“ ..’c-can we ‘oo ‘eash ‘ay?” _..._

“Sorry, I need that one more time. I got the ‘doing something today’ but kinda missed the key part.” Dean swallowed again, concentrating. 

“..s-- p..eeesh” Sam tried his best to hide his shock, though he was pleased. 

“ _Speech!_ Y es! Sure--wh-what do you wanna do? You want the sentences or the blocks?” Sam rambled on excitedly but Dean shook his head.

“W-wan oo f-fun erds. W-ish ‘oo sic” _Want fun words. With music._

“Fun words and music it is! What album you want?” 

“Z-zep-” Sam waited for him to finish. “C-o-oda”

As Sam cued up the music to help stimulate Dean’s speech (a technique they had learned that Dean actually approved of) he wondered what made his brother--on a bad day, no less--want to practice. He wouldn't ask, of course, but was curious nonetheless. The music started emanating and Dean closed his eyes, loving that listening to music required nothing he couldn’t do--he could be the same Dean as before when he was listening to Led Zeppelin. 

“So I’m dying to know what the hell these ‘fun’ words are you’re so desperate to work on.”

“..’uk”

“I’m sorry, duck?” Sam grinned. 

“..uuck”

“Luck?” Sam smiled bigger and Dean sent his good hand out to swat at him.

“...Fff..uck ..awff B’ish”

“Now _that_ w as clear as day, _jerk_ . Try again, though.”

“..f-uck. you. B’i..” Dean swallowed. “ish.” Dean closed his eyes, hooked arm tightening and good arm tensing as well. Sam wondered how long his composure could possibly last--how patient with himself he could be.

“B-bi-ttt-c-h” Dean should have looked pleased but he looked defeated. Initiating a little bit of Routine 3, Sam suggested a few things he knew Dean had been so close to getting. 

“What about ‘Baby’ ... ?”

“Noo-bidy p-puts B-aby ‘n a c’rner.” Dean took the bait, but Sam suspected Dean had known he was throwing him a bone.

“You wanna keep going? We can stop whenever.”

“D..aaa..m str’t we c’n s’op wh’n’vr.” _Damn straight we can stop whenever_

“What is with you today, rolling out the jokes, the smiles _,_ the _douchery...”_ Dean paused, frowning a little at Sam’s poking fun. Sam’s face remained calm but worried he had hurt his feelings.

“Youu strt-ng ‘t’ s..own’ k’ me. How ‘I fink ‘t, at ‘east.” _You’re starting to sound like me._ _How I think, at least_

Sam gave a sad smile, at a loss for words. Dean, always the protector, re-directed and met Sam’s fake smile with one of his own.

“...g’ad to see ‘ve t..aind you well yun...j--e--d--i” _Glad to see I’ve trained you well, young Jedi_

Sam grinned back, but the joke was not really Dean...it was a by-product of Dean’s condition. A defensive joke. But it _was_ a _joke_ . So Sam would take it. 

Dean, suddenly, looked at Sam--serious. His younger brother’s hope waning. “W’ana ‘s-ay...” He gave up mid-sentence, breaking eye contact. 

“I can turn up the music if you want...see if that helps.”

“Nno. W’ana s-ay, tt-h-anks”

“ _T_ _h_ ’s are hard dude, don’t push yourself. Besides, that’s not a very fun word. I thought I’d have to sit here trying to listen to you say ‘erotica’ or something...”

“No. S-am. M..e. ‘M say-in’ t-h-ank y-ouu.” _No, Sam. Me. I’m saying thank you._ Dean’s voice clear as a bell in Sam’s head. _Thank you._

“Dean. You never have to thank me. Didn’t have to before, and you don’t have to now.” Dean nodded and closed his eyes and Sam wished that they could talk--for real--without struggle. But of course, he knew even if Dean was better, he wouldn’t say much more than he already had. Wouldn’t have needed to. 

“C-an t-urn mo’sic ovv” _Can turn the music off._

And he did; Sam stood and silenced the music and handed Dean back the water bottle which he drank from readily. Soon, though, he gestured for Sam to take it. Opening his mouth a few times, questioning the taste, he warned Sam. 

“T’sts f-unny” _Tastes funny. “_ You worried?”

“..w..ittle”

“Feeling dizzy? 

“N.no”

“Anything else?”

“No’t yet.”

“Well...we’ll wait and if anything changes, just let me know. You want Depakote?” 

Hating his options, Dean allowed himself a disappointed sigh, not knowing if he’d be able to get through the day if things got any worse. 

“D-on wan ‘t if ‘urn..s out t’b n’u’hin” _Don’t want it if it turns out to be nothing_

Sam nodded and waited for Dean to indicate what was next. Sam looked to his brother but was depressed to see that things had only gotten worse. His spirits may have been high today, but his body was being a pain in the ass. He saw how tightly clenched his left arm clung to his side, how sensitive his knee was to movement, how much effort it took him to try and speak. But Dean was goal-oriented and the goal now, as he announced, was to make it to the bathroom. 

“All that water?”

“Y..ou s’y ho’fu-lly” _You say hopefully._

“I’ll do your arm again after, if you want.”

“...m’by l’tr” _Maybe later_

“I don’t mind. We’ll do it in a minute.” 

“--f’ck’ n hrts, S’m” _Fucking hurts, Sam_

Great. He’d done it. Pushed him too hard and made him admit his limitations--as if he wasn’t already aware, especially on a day like today. The bathroom a growing priority though, Sam extended his arm for support.

Dean paused uncharacteristically on his way to standing. 

“Dean?”

The older brother groaned in response. 

“..’eeed...” 

“Need? What do you need?” Dean shook his head at his brother’s incorrect translation. He grasped Sam harder, trying to look back at the bed as a clue, but the taller man was still confused. 

“..p-in..eed..ll. ss” _Pins and needles._

“Do we have any time?” Sam started to move Dean back to a sitting position when he saw his brother’s jaw go rigid and his hooked arm begin to tremble against his chest. 

“Guess not.” Dean leaned his head against Sam’s chest for support as quiet, uncontrollable noises started gathering in his throat. 

“I gotcha. Gonna put you on the floor.”

Sam tried his best to gingerly lay 170 pounds of Dean onto the ground but he could only be so gentle. Eyes still open, Dean stared at his brother as drool leaked from the corner of his mouth; Sam didn’t notice because he was busy rolling up a washcloth, trying to pry open Dean’s clenched fist. The last time, his nails had punctured his palm badly and Sam wanted to avoid repeating the past. Succeeding, Sam wedged the small towel in his brother’s grasp right before the more violent convulsions started. Dean’s green eyes rolled, his bad leg twitched, hooked arm beat against his ribs, good arm shook at his side, his head (thankfully), remained relatively still, guttural noises gurgled in his throat, and his pants darkened from the missed trip to the bathroom. Sam couldn’t do anything but watch his brother suffer as the clock continued on, unfazed by the horror before it. 

90 seconds passed. 

120.

140.

Too long Way too long 

It seemed that Sam’s heart rate was beginning to match the number of seconds that Dean had been seizing. Finally, at three minutes, all that remained was the spazzming of Dean’s bad arm, which it occasionally did on a regular basis anyway. Sam lowered himself onto the floor next to Dean and impatiently rubbed his knuckles lightly against his brother’s sternum. 

“Hey Dean? You with me?” Dean’s head turned away from Sam. “Don’t need to do anything, ok? Just look at me if you can.” Dean turned back to Sam, and began to open his eyes. 

He understood;

He had done what Sam asked. 

His brain wasn’t fried.

They could live with everything else. 

“That’s good, just stay still. I’m right here.” Sam attempted to convey a safe environment before explaining what happened to what he knew to be a confusion-plagued Dean. 

“You had a seizure. Lasted three minutes. You’re ok.” Sam spoke simply but still doubted if his words meant anything to the dazed man. Dean’s head shifted back and forth a bit, it seemed like he was surveying the room. 

“We’re in your room. On the floor. In the bunker.”

Dean still hadn’t responded, nor had he made any attempt at a response, but Sam wasn’t holding his breath. Sometimes Dean woke up alert and aware, but other times, (most of the time), it took him decent spans of time to come back to reality. It was in these moments that Sam was reminded how devastating it would be to really lose Dean--for Dean to lose control of his mind. Sam would always be there for him, that was a cosmic truth; in these painfully long minutes, Sam realized the degree to which he appreciated how much Dean was still Dean in the ways it mattered. 

Beginning to come back to his senses, Dean fidgeted on the ground more, and eventually looked to Sam, anxious to speak, though Sam knew that what would come out required serious deciphering. 

“..’m”

“I’m right here. I can get you to bed as soon as you’re ready to stand up.”

“..mmm..” Sam was in a bit of a bind, as usual. Dean couldn’t communicate well enough yet, which meant Sam had to wait on the floor while Dean recovered. Or, he had to make decisions _for_ his brother rather than _with_ him. Thinking in silence for a moment, Sam considered what had to be accomplished and how best to achieve it. Logic, in this scenario, had to be his friend. 

  1. Dean needed to be moved from the floor.
  2. Dean needed a change of clothes and preferably a shower but he thought the latter might be expecting too much.
  3. Dean needed medication.
  4. Dean needed sleep.
  5. Dean needed whatever Dean said he needed. 



The problems followed as soon as the challenges were identified. 

  1. Lifting 170 pounds of semi-unconscious man was nearly impossible. Especially when he was disoriented, uncoordinated, and in pain.
  2. _See above_ in addition to maintaining privacy and decency.
  3. Dean would have to be aware enough--and willing enough-- to eat and drink. 
  4. This would be no problem if it were number one. Sitting at priority four meant that 1-3 had to be accomplished while also fighting off oncoming drowsiness.
  5. Dean probably wouldn’t be able to convey his needs well enough for Sam to fulfill them. 



Before Sam could give any real thought to troubleshooting, however, Dean continued making frustrated noises. 

“..g’mm ‘pp” Sam, hopelessly lost, remained silent.

“..g’mm ahh-pp” This time, Dean’s good hand waved generally and Sam put it together. 

_Get me up_

“I got it, I got it, sorry. We’ll get you up. Try and relax.” Sam adjusted himself behind 

Dean so that he could pull his brother up from his armpits. From there, he could awkwardly maneuver him into the chair or onto the bed. Usually, this was a struggle, but thus far had a nearly impeccable success rate. Staring at his brother though, Sam doubted their strategy; Dean’s eyebrows were folded down in discomfort, his eyes blinking slowly. His limp arm still vibrated with tremors and his bad leg was still turned inward. Dean, in this instance, had little capability of helping. 

Beyond the physical, Sam could see that Dean was awake inside and that he was hurting more than any pain his body was experiencing. Not only had it been a bad day to begin with, but he had started seizing in Sam’s arms, had a long and tiring fit, wet himself, and couldn’t manage to speak well enough for even Sam to understand. He was forced to suffer alone, inside his head where nothing was wrong, and Sam feared there was nothing he could do for his brother. How could he fix that? Remind him it’s not his fault? Dean already knew that. Remind him that he never judges him? He rarely had before, so why would he now? It was all a moot point and neither one of them had the energy to engage with the depth of their current reality. They still couldn’t bring themselves to say the name, “Michael” so they certainly weren’t ready to talk about what he’d done. Instead, for the moment, they just dealt with getting Dean off the floor. 

“Ready?”

“mmf” Sam took it as an affirmation and prepped his arms under Dean’s shoulders. 

“One. Two. Three.” Sam threw out his back just a little as he lifted, and they nearly collapsed when Dean’s weak leg caught the edge of the chair, but Dean was safely deposited on the edge of his bed. Noticing his closed eyes, still-shaking arm and tight jaw, Sam feared another seizure. 

“You gonna have another one?” Sam tried to keep his tone from being demanding, but he was desperate to know if Dean knew something he didn’t. 

“...m’’mm’f’ay’n.” Again, Sam was at a loss. So much for Dean’s earlier progress; his speech had been shot to hell now. Dean knew that Sam couldn’t understand him so he opted for the next best thing he could think of. Lumberingly, he lifted his mobile arm into Sam’s view and gave a thumbs up--albeit a weak, loose thumbs up, but Sam got the message so what did it matter? Unfortunately, there were so many things Dean still needed to say: 

He wanted a shower.

He wanted more comfortable pants--his ugly tan sweatpants that reminded him of cowboy saddle trousers.

He wanted Dilantin because the Depakote made his stomach hurt.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted bourbon.

He wanted heating pads.

He wanted his computer and _Fast Times at Ridgemont High._

He wanted Sam to stop worrying.

He wanted to be alone.

He wanted a cheesesteak with peppers even though he knew he’d probably throw up. And he wanted to be able to make it through the rest of the day without crying. 

Most of all he wanted to be able to say these things. But he couldn’t—not yet—so he settled for his lousy thumbs up and waited for Sam to start making decisions; they both knew Dean would lay there indefinitely if he didn’t. 

“I’ll get you a change of clothes and—“

“..’how’r” _...?_

“Shower?”

“..mm’hmm” 

“You feeling up to that?”

“..d’n..w..’na ee h’ere lk is” _Don’t wanna ... ?_

“I didn’t get all of that but if you wanna take a shower then...” Sam disapproved. It was preferable, yes, but it would exhaust him. Dean had a right to his dignity though, and who was Sam to take that away from him? 

“Then we’ll get you in the shower.” Dean nodded lightly and Sam was relieved to notice that his leg and arm had seemed to calm. 

“Can you can walk with me under your shoulder?”

“...y’ eahh”

“You want another minute?”

“-we k’in g’” _We can go_

Sam was back to understanding him decently and they slowly—this cannot be emphasized enough—slowly made their way to the bathroom. The bunker’s showers were industrial much like the rest of the facility so they were large and open and ended up being the right amount of accessible. Sam had put a heavy metal bench in Dean’s shower so he could sit when he needed to. Making it to the bathroom safely, (and surprisingly without much difficulty), Dean leaned against the countertop while Sam retrieved a towel. 

“I don’t know how much help you want.” Sam was direct this time, feeling Dean’s mental exhaustion and knowing how irritated he was with his limitations after the seizure. 

“J’s h.’p me git ow’ ah t shh’rt ‘n ‘pn’ts. ‘ll sh’wr... br’n me sw’pnts.” _Just help me get out of shirt and pants. I’ll shower. Bring me sweatpants_

God it was nice to be talking again. Sam’s mood was turned around instantly and because of it, Dean’s positive efforts from earlier started creeping back. The water ran and Sam let his brother be. After a few silent minutes, Sam began hearing faint music. Putting his ear to the door, he heard Dean humming Metallica. 

A feeling this good hadn’t washed over Sam in a long time. The humming stopped after five or so minutes and Sam’s worry flickered, though the water turning off relieved him. 

“S’..m?”

“Yeah, I’m right outside, Dean.”

“C’ ‘min” _Come in_

“You decent?”

“..wol’na c’al’d you if a’ wa’nt” _Wouldn’t have called you if I wasn’t_

Sam entered the foggy bathroom and found Dean sitting on the bench, wet, and still in his boxers. 

“You showered in your underwear?”

“..n’ dff fom b’thin swut.” _No different from a bathing suit_

“Sure...” Sam offered Dean the towel and he started drying off. Sam wasn’t sure what was next on the docket so he waited patiently for Dean’s instructions. Dry enough, Dean let the towel fall to the ground and extended his arm so that Sam could help pull him to a standing position. 

“Your pants are next to the sink, there. I’ll be outside.” Sam left, and Dean grinned as he caught sight of the ugly tan pants that Sam had laid out. His cowboy ones. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Emerging clean and moving with relative stability, Dean looked better; his spirits higher than expected. Eyes still tired, though, Sam really didn’t want to push their luck. 

“Do you wanna try and sleep?”

“..’l’eeat ‘n t’ke d--ie--” Dean struggled and Sam interrupted, sparing his brother. 

“Dilantin, yeah. You don’t want the Depakote?”

“..m’ks m’ si’k” _Makes me sick_

“I know. Sorry. How bad’s the arm?” Sam looked at the crumpled limb, knowing how weary Dean had been of it today. He had already admitted that it hurt, the seizure hadn’t helped, and Sam knew Dean wouldn’t want any attention or efforts to be made about it. If they ignored it though, Sam knew it would be so much worse tomorrow. 

“..’n’t gr’ate.” _Not great_

“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but if you take the Depakote you can take Diazepam for your arm.” Dean paused, thinking over his options. Take the Dilantin and suffer through the cramping arm; take Depakote with Diazepam and have a relaxed arm but a cramping stomach. He really didn’t want to throw up and his arm was gonna hurt no matter what. 

“..wan ha d-i-e” _Want the Di..._ Dean stopped, hoping Sam would understand him, and not push back anymore. 

“Ok. I’ll get the Dilantin and you can sleep.” Dean liked the sound of that plan. 

Because the Dilantin didn’t usually make him sick, when Sam brought him the pills, he also brought Dean a burrito of sorts...Dean forced himself to eat the mysterious tortilla wrap but couldn’t bring himself to care about its contents; all his energy was focused on bringing his hand to his mouth without too much trembling. Ironically, Dean knew that Sam brought it because Dean would have the best chance of eating it without making a mess or needing Sam’s help. After a few painfully slow minutes of coordinating bites and chews, Sam made him drink a few more sips of water, and he finally took the Dilantin. With the extended release pills now working in his system, Dean let the exhaustion take full effect and Sam left him to sleep off the after-effects of the seizure. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed—chapter 2 will be added soon. 


	2. Visiting Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas comes by to try and help piece the boys back together as best he can. Of course, the Winchesters always seem to manage to find something to get in the way of their own improvement....

**_A/N:_ ** _ Cas is here! Woohoo! Still a story primarily focused on Sam and Dean but this wouldn’t be a supernatural fic without our trusty angel. Again, I claim no medical knowledge. _

_ On another note...please check out my Supernatural song cover reflecting/celebrating 15 seasons of the show! Link/info can be found in my profile. Thanks for listening to the shameless promotion… _

**_A/N 2.0:_** **_SPN FAMILY PLEASE HELP ME WITH A LINE I CAN’T REMEMBER_** _—_

_ my friends and I seem to remember a line that we believe Bobby says to Sam and goes something like this: “Did it ever occur to you that your brother is a lot smarter than you give him credit for?” _

_ However, after rewatching nearly all the episodes in addition to pouring over every inch of the internet...we cannot seem to find any record of anything like this. Are we crazy? Does an exchange like that ring a bell to anyone else?  _

_ Apologies for the long notes...hope you enjoy!  _

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Sam slept the same time as Dean—it was better for them to be on the same schedule anyway. Dean said that he dreamt differently ever since the incident; Dean said his dreams weren’t so much memories as they were alternatives... _ what ifs  _ rather than replaying actual events. Of course he’d had dreams like that before as well, but these were different—he couldn’t explain why. Sam, on the other hand, dreamt the same. But it wasn’t fair to call it dreaming when all he ever had were nightmares. Sam’s dreams were almost always one of three categories: Dean dies, he dies, and the  _ incident.  _ Michael. The name was never spoken aloud but it was shouted in his nightmares. The things they couldn’t discuss ran rampant in his mind when he slept. How the small crack in the door Michael left open, in Dean’s brain, had blown open too far and too fast. Michael left a time bomb in Dean...one that would undo any previous healing that any angel had done—any healing that had  _ ever  _ occurred. A cosmic joke. Michael made sure to leave his mark on Dean even after he had been expelled. Even after he’d been killed. 

So Sam dreamt of the incident. The day that Michael escaped Dean’s mind, but the bomb went off. 

_ Dean dropped like an anchor, his head hitting the map table as he fell. The seizure started immediately and Dean’s unconscious guttural screams made Sam pray for Cas to come and work a miracle. The trench coat fluttered behind him and Cas’s fingers graced Dean’s forehead but the seizing continued. Their desperate conversation, Cas’s explanation of what Michael must have done, was distant from Sam memories because all he had done was stare at his big brother. Stare as his leg—the same one that had been encased in a cast from ankle to knee so many years ago—make a snapping noise and turn inward. Stare as his right arm, the one that Cas had broken while Naiomi had control of his mind—curled and flexed and tensed and settled useless on his chest. Stare as the blood continued to leak out of the gash on his head and out of his ears. Stare as the seizure continued after five minutes...stare at what Sam was convinced was soon to be his dead brother. Cas hadn’t been able to do anything. He watched just as helpless. When Dean stilled, after an eternity, Cas took another look into his mind—fingers gracing his forehead once again. Cas’ deep voice echoed in Sam’s dream.  _

_ “His mind is whole, Sam. Nothing is wrong with his brain.” _

_ A relief in the moment, but a debilitating realization to make later.  _

_ Michal had done it on purpose; taken away Dean’s body but left his mind intact. Exactly what Dean had done to Michael when he locked him away in his own head.  _

_ Payback.  _

_ Divine revenge.  _

_ And the Winchesters, as usual, the butt of the joke.  _

Sam awoke suddenly, as always, but was relieved to hear the distant sounds of Dean snoring. Unable to sleep, Sam migrated to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich--he didn’t really want it, but it had become routine; Sam ate what Dean could eat, Sam slept when Dean slept, Sam was happy when Dean was happy, Sam had bad days when Dean had bad days. So Sam sat in the kitchen eating, wondering if he’d have time to reach out to Ted with some ghoul info before Dean woke up. Before Sam was done though, Castiel appeared in the doorway, seemingly calm. 

“Cas--hey!” The Winchester was caught off guard, but not taken by surprise. Though he feared the angel brought bad news.

“Hi, Sam. There aren’t any disasters that I’m currently aware of, I’m just checking in.”

Cas had anticipated Sam’s concern for his sudden arrival and upon hearing that there was no impending apocalypse, Sam allowed himself to enjoy the angel’s company. 

“Thanks for coming by; we’re both a little starved for outside stimulation…” Sam made a half-smile but wasn’t overly concerned with putting on a cheery face for the familiar friend. 

“Sorry I haven’t been by more often. Dean seems... _ unsure _ about my presence to say the least.”

“Yeah..I think maybe he just...I don’t know. I think the more people that have to see him like this… … he’s just embarrassed. But he doesn’t always talk to me so…”

“You still have each other and that’s more than any angel can say about his friends. Or any demon for that matter. The events of the past decade have completely reworked Heaven, Hell, Earth...but they’re all still standing. And so are you two. That feat is nothing to laugh at.”

“Three cheers for us, huh?” Sam gave another fake smile as Cas sat down across from him. 

“How is he?” Cas’s eyebrows raised in gentle questioning and Sam shook his head before responding. 

“Today just hasn’t been great--everything points to the fact that it’s been a good day...he’s been smiling and making jokes and he’s been agreeable. He had a long seizure but came out of it alright, he wanted to take a shower and told me what medication he wanted. We joked around and…” Sam trailed off as Cas leaned forward an inch more. 

“It sounds like those are all good things...he’s getting better, or at least adjusting.”

“I know. It’s just a bad day because I just miss him, Cas. I know he’s still Dean but he has to try so much harder at everything. Today, I’ve watched him try so hard to keep it together. I just want him to…” Sam trailed off before beginning a new phrase. “Sometimes it’s easier when he’s in a bad mood and he’s whining and complaining because in some ways, that’s more like the old Dean. But when I see him making such an effort to--”

“Sam.” Cas interrupted, sparing the hunter from further emotional turmoil. “You do more for him than anyone could. It’s beyond reasonable to assume that in some way, you’re suffering as much as he is. And I know that Dean is weary of others seeing him like this, myself included. But maybe it’s best you asked for help--for both your sakes. I, for one, am here. For you even if your brother doesn’t particularly want me around. And Dean seems to speak highly of Jody Mills and Donna” Cas took a breath and tried to convince Sam of his point. “For all the times you’re called for help, I think you are deserved some favors.” Cas gave a rare half-grin before standing. 

“I’ll go look in on Dean, if that’s ok..?” Sam nodded adamantly, glad that Cas was still wanting (and willing) to be around even if Dean hadn’t made it easy on him. 

Castiel departed from the kitchen, his nerves growing as he approached Dean’s room. The angel could hear his snores but knowing the hunter was asleep didn’t seem to lessen the growing anxiety in him. Pausing in the doorway, he let himself stare at Dean’s limp form. The arm hung against his chest as stiff and rigid as he’d last seen it. His leg seemed natural, the same bowing as always. His body looked remarkably similar to before the accident, all things considered. But the angel still recognized the bags under his eyes, the taught brow, the strained shoulders. He was tired--his soul was tired. Castiel had the urge to look into Dean’s mind...to try and sort through the myriad of emotions and thoughts that must be wreaking havoc. But of course, he didn’t; he stayed in the doorway, staring. Faint clanging came from the kitchen and though clearly not an indication of something concerning, the sleeping man didn’t know the difference. Making a few grumbled noises, Dean shifted in the bed and awoke rather suddenly though there was no effort to reach for a weapon under his pillow. It was no longer there; he could no longer grasp it. 

“Dean?” Cas remained calm and stayed put in the doorway. Dean, staring at the angel with confusion hanging on his face, didn’t respond. 

“Dean, are you alight?” Blinking a few times, Dean brought his good hand to rub his face, and gently leaned himself on the headboard, sitting up. Remaining silent, Cas took a worried step into the room.

“Dean, do you need me to get Sam?” Dean shook his head, eyebrows raising as if everything was normal as could be. Cas waited for the Winchester to speak, expecting him to have things to say (or shout, more likely). But nothing happened. Dean remained quiet and after a few moments of contemplation, Cas realized why. 

“You don’t want to speak to me…” The disappointment that flooded the angel was evident in his drooping shoulders. Dean shook his head again, indicating a wrong assumption.

“You _are_ speaking to me?” Again, silence. Then, for the second time, Cas pieced it all together. Dean didn’t want to speak to him not because he was upset, but because he was embarrassed. Letting the conclusion remain internalized, Cas offered consolement masked with cognizant egotism.

“Dean, I understand every spoken language on Earth, countless dead languages, and hundreds of dialects from beyond this reality. I think I can manage to understand you.”

“ ‘ovr’ con’f’dint aar we?”  _ Overconfident are we? _

“More like modestly self-aware.” 

Pleased that the angel was capable of understanding him, Dean relaxed further and attempted to flex his fisted hand. Noticing but still not invading the hunter’s space, Castiel proposed a solution.

“I can loosen it, if you’d like. The muscles, I mean.” 

Suddenly awkward, Cas seemed to shrink into his trench coat sheepishly, remembering the last interaction the two of them had: Dean hadn’t taken too kindly to the angel’s offers of healing or prodding. During their last meeting. Cas had attempted to look into Dean’s mind--desperate for clues or answers. Due to the angel’s invasion, or purely coincidental no one knew. But the activity had sent Dean into spasms of pain and seizure. This time around, however, Dean seemed oddly accepting, nodding hesitantly at his offer. Stepping further into the room, Cas paused before reaching out to Dean’s forehead.

“Sam said you were being agreeable today. Not that--- I mean…” Cas faltered with his phrasing, regretting having begun the statement as it implied that Sam had been talking about Dean behind his back, and that Cas would have been upset if Dean  _ hadn’t  _ been agreeable. Of course, neither was the case. Luckily, Dean knew that. 

“D’nt w’orry ‘bou ‘t. S’m’s r’ah’t. S’mtimes tre’at ‘im lie ass. Can’t b’lame ‘im f’or be’in exc’ted ‘en I d’on’t.”  _ Don’t worry about it. Sam’s right. Sometimes I treat him like ass. Can’t blame him for being excited when I don’t.  _

“No one is blaming either of you for anything.” 

At his own words, Cas was inspired to touch Dean’s forehead, attempting to use his grace to improve the state of Dean’s mangled arm though past attempts had yielded little to no improvement. Using the moment to take quick survey of the Winchester in other capacities, Cas was overwhelmed by a nagging force that hadn’t been present before. A twinge of something. A slight pulling on Dean’s mental strings. Retracting his hand, Cas attempted to hide his reaction, lest Dean misinterpret Cas’ findings as something bad … or something too good to be true. 

Never one to successfully deceive the oldest Winchester though, Cas’ attempts were futile.

“W’at is i’t? W’at you fe’ee’l?”  _ What is it? What did you feel? _

“Nothing. I was just trying to see if I’d be able to...aid your improvement.”

“A’nd?” 

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Dean.”

“N’othin c’n b’ s’m’thin in o’r bo’k.”  _ Nothing can be something in our book _

“It’s nothing of use at the moment. It was just something out of place in your mind. A crack.” Dean gulped, drawing a shaky breath in.

“...c’rac’k?”

“No. Not like the one Mi--” Cas cut himself off, “...not like that, Dean.” Nodding, Dean let it drop and filed the interaction away in his mind as something to bring up later. Flexing his fist again, Dean noticed a slight improvement.

“T’h’nks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Cas grinned at his mimicked phrase and sat beside the bed in the chair Dean had nearly tripped over earlier. 

“H’ws S’m?”  _ How’s Sam? _

“He’s..” Castiel faltered for a moment. “Doing fine.”

“Yayh. H’s doin’ f’ne an’ I’m r’dy to be dr’fted to th’ C’w’bys.”  _ Yeah. He’s doing fine and I’m ready to be drafted to the Cowboys. _

“He’s worried. As seems to be the usual with him. With the both of you.”

“D’n’t kn’ow wh’t I’d do wit’out ‘hm.”  _ Don’t know what I’d do without him. _

“Dean...do you think maybe that…” 

“S’m need’s a b’rk? Th’nk ‘t all th time.”  _ Sam needs a break? Think it all the time. _

“That maybe you need friends? I was staying away because I assumed that’s what you wanted. I know my status as an  _ angel _ has been…” Cas faltered with his words but Dean shook his head, indicating no hard feelings. 

“N’t you. N’t yo’r fa’lt. Shn’t ‘ve l’ft th’ngs way I di’d.”  _ Not you. Not your fault. Shouldn’t have left things the way I did.  _

“I don’t blame you for anything. But as someone looking in on you and Sam, and as a friend, it seems like you could use a break.”

“B’rk? F’rm w’at?”  _ Break? From what? _

“From being locked away, shut off from the world. Dean, you spent your entire life on the road, moving and--” Dean interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore. 

“Y’ th’nk I dow’n k’now t’at?”  _ You think I don’t know that?  _

“Of course you do.” Cas took a breath, looked down at his own hands and slid back into the chair, resigned. “I just want you and Sam to feel like you don’t only have each other. Of course you always will, but for now...remember you still have people who care about you.” Castiel stood then, making his way to the door. Dean spoke before he left, trying his best to enunciate. 

“Th’nks f’r com’in, C’a’as.”  _ Thanks for coming, Cas _

The angel nodded, relieved that he and Dean were back on friendly terms. Leaving the hunter’s room, Cas passed by Sam who was carrying a prescription bottle in one hand, a water bottle in the crook of his arm, an ancient book in the other elbow, and a phone at his ear. 

“That’s all I can think of for now but I’ll find a few more books and talk to Dean and see if he has anything more to add.” There were a few beats of silence from Sam as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the line. “He’s doing ok, thanks for asking. Yeah … … ok. I’ll call you back in an hour. Thanks, Ted.” With that, Sam attempted to maneuver his balanced objects so he could bring the phone away from his ear. Looking overwhelmed by the task, Cas took pity and reached for the phone.

“Thanks. I didn’t hear any yelling so did you two do ok?” Sam was weary of the answer, but Cas’ shadow of a smile relieved him. 

“We’re back on good terms but I still think I should be aware of what affect my presence may have. My ‘ears are on’ anytime you need, but I’ll give you both space.” Cas passed by Sam on his way out, and Sam went to talk to Dean about ghouls. What a day it had been. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Dean sat at the table in the kitchen, hours after Cas’ departure. Sam stood nearby, filling a teacup with coffee, using his blue flannel to wipe off the few drops of liquid spilling down the side of the cup. 

“Th’ts s’mthin I wou’ddo.”  _ That’s something I would do _

“What do you mean?” Sam sat across from his brother, sipping and confused.

“W’pe c’ffe.  _ Wipe the coffee _

“Well I have lived with you practically my entire life…”

“Yh…” Dean bowed his head, letting Sam dismiss the comment. Sam, sensing a real conversation might be beneficial to them both, encouraged him to continue.

“But that’s not what you meant, is it?” Sam waited, and eventually Dean raised his gaze, shaking his head in response. 

“Dean?” Sam questioned his brother, hoping to prompt another response. 

“D’nt w’nt you turn’in ‘nto me.”  _ Don’t want you turning into me _

“Just because I’ve picked up a few habits doesn’t mean--”

“Tn’gs ‘v ch’ngd. Y’ t’nk I d’nt k’n’ow t’at?”  _ Things have changed, you think I don’t know that?  _

“Of course things have changed, Dean. But things have been changing our entire lives and every time we find a way to live with it.” 

“W’ h’vnt lv’d w’ ‘t…” Dean’s speech was worsening through his growing emotion. “W f’nd w’y to ‘gnore ‘t…’r f’x ‘t...n’t l-l’v wi’ ‘t.”  _ We haven’t lived with it. We find a way to ignore it or fix it, not live with it _

Sam remained relaxed in his seat but Dean was growing agitated. Sam knew he was due for an outburst; he deserved one. 

“But we  _ have  _ lived with it, Dean.”

“W’ H’VNT, S’M!”  _ We haven’t, Sam!  _

Dean’s good arm trembled in a fist on the table and Dean slumped a little in his seat. Sam stiffened, trying to decide if Dean was on the verge of collapse, or just recovering from his brief outburst. After another moment of watching Dean’s steady breathing, Sam relaxed and attempted to continue the conversation. 

“Dean? I know things have been...well...you know. But--”

“But w’at? We h’vn’t h’nted in m’u’nths. Y’r it’ch’in to w’rk, I k’now you ‘re. A’d I’m n’t g’nna l’st s’tt’in c’oo’p’d up ‘n ‘ere l’ke…”  _ But what? We haven’t hunted in months. You’re itching to work, I know you are. And I’m not gonna last sitting cooped up in here like… _

Dean trailed off, his voice catching in his throat, his eyes staring at the table. Taking a shaky breath, he continued. 

“S’m, s’mtim’s feels l’ke I’m st’ll tr’ped in’sde. L’ke he’s still c’llin th’ s’ots.”  _ Sam, sometimes it feels like I’m still trapped inside. Like he’s still calling the shots _

Sam’s face shifted, frown forming. He knew this is what Dean needed--to get some of it out. But that didn’t make it any easier to hear. 

“Then maybe you just need to be the one in charge for a while...maybe you need to be the one calling the shots.” Sam’s eyebrows raised as did Dean’s gaze. 

“N’t m’ch m’re to d’cide o’t’er ‘hen d’ep’k’te ‘r di’z’pam.”  _ Not much more to decide other than Depakote or Diazepam _

“That’s not what I meant.” Sam managed to force a small grin but was stopped by the shadow of a grimace on Dean’s face.

“Dean? Dean you ok?” Dean’s bad arm trembled slightly against his chest.

“M’ f’ne.”  _ I’m fine  _

“Dean?” 

“I s’ai’d ‘m ‘fne, S’m!”  _ I said I’m fine, Sam  _

“Ok…” Sam didn’t know what to do, where to go, what to say...so he settled on silence until Dean made a decision. A few moments of silence felt like hours, but after only a quiet minute or so, Dean let their previous conversation drop and moved onto another. 

“E’vr c’ll T’d ba’ck?”  _ Ever call Ted back?  _

“Yeah. Said thanks.” Listening, Dean nodded.

“Y’ k’now…”  _ You know…  _ Dean trailed off and hoped that Sam wouldn’t decipher the beginning of his statement, wanting to retract it as soon as it came out. He found no such luck.

“Know what?” 

“St’p’d.”  _ Stupid _

“Well if it’s coming out of your mouth I’m sure it is.” Sam grinned, tempted to lightly smack Dean’s shoulder, but resisted for fear of hurting him or throwing him off balance. Even without the added touch, however, Dean understood his playful tone and smiled himself.

“Seriously, though...what is it?” 

Dean sighed and looked up at his brother.

“W’ann’a go h’ntin’, S’m.”  _ Wanna go hunting, Sam. _

The younger brother tried his best to maintain a poker face despite the raging war of contradiction going on inside of him. It was good that Dean wanted something, that he had goals and hopes and aspirations. It was bad that those desires were largely unattainable. And it hurt him more than anything to know that Dean would never hunt again. Not really. Not the way he wanted to--not the way he needed to. So what was Sam supposed to say? Dean, always the protector, made it so his little brother didn’t have to respond. Making an effort to stand, he held up his hand to tell Sam he was stable enough. 

“M ‘gnna r’ead f’r a b’t. I’ll be in ‘he ‘l--l’br’... … you k’now w’ I me’n.”  _ I’m gonna read for a bit. I’ll be in the l--ibr … you know what I mean _

Sam nodded, his eyes lingering to make sure that Dean really was stable enough to be walking on his own. At Dean’s departure from the kitchen, Sam rubbed his face and focused on his breaths--a mini meditation. It didn’t help the growing anxiety in him, but it made him feel better that he was trying. 

Dean wanted to hunt.

Sam wanted Dean to be able to hunt. 

Sam and Dean both knew that it wasn’t possible.

But since when have the Winchesters ever let a little thing like impossibility stop them?

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Later that night, Dean was feeling surprisingly well. Regardless of how the day began and the events that followed, he was up and about and eating and though those were all good things, it worried Sam. It worried him because on Dean’s good days, in Dean’s good moments, Sam could convince himself that a road-trip might be feasible, that it might even do them both some good. But those were dangerous temptations; flooding Sam’s mind equally as quickly were visions of Dean seizing in the passenger seat as Sam merged at 75 mph. Of Dean’s leg cramping after so many hours in the car. Of getting stranded or lost or mugged and having no way to protect Dean. It might as well have been a nightmare. But, Sam was also lost in the temptation of being able to drive Baby, look over at his brother sitting next to him, blaring god-awful music, and chastising him for riding the brakes.  _ That  _ was a dream. 

Dean interrupted Sam’s musings, uncharacteristically invested in Sam’s involvement with other hunters. 

“H’erd fr’m J’dy l’tly?”  _ Heard from Jody lately? _

“Not in a few weeks, no.” 

Secretly, Sam was terrified of where his line of questioning might be headed. He knew that Dean’s healthy state wasn’t likely to last and even if it did, he wasn’t sure Dean was up to seeing people. Sam was overjoyed that Dean had the desire to socialize, he was. But if Dean was still sensitive being around Cas, Sam feared how he’d do with people he wasn’t quite as close with. 

“K’no ‘you w’nt l’ke it...b’t w’--w’hat d’ you t’nk b’ou yo’ g’nin on a ‘nt?”  _ Know you won’t like it, but what do you think about going on a hunt? _

Sam felt panic and disappointment seize his chest but he only paused a moment before responding. 

“I mean...we saw how much Bobby would still do so maybe we can find a way for us to...pick hunting up...in some capacity…” Sam began to babble and Dean actually laughed--a big Dean laugh. Sam’s face contorted in confusion.

“Are--are you laughing at me?” Dean continued giggling and wiped his red face with his good hand as the chuckling subsided.

“D’dn’t m’ean me, S’m. ‘M not c’omin’. J’s m’nt you. St’p’d.”  _ Didn’t mean me, Sam. I’m not coming. Just meant you, stupid. _

“You’re such a friggin jerk, man.”

“B-itch.” 

It was Sam’s turn to smile at the perfectly pronounced insult. Suddenly, Sam wasn’t so overwhelmed by having to respond to Dean’s proposal. 

“Dean, I’m not hunting without you. We’ll just find a way to slowly get back into things in a different role.” Pleased with the firmness of his brother’s response, Dean was quiet for a minute. Building his courage just enough, he confessed before changing his mind. 

“W’naa t’ke t’ip. ‘Nyw’ere. N-need to d’ so’hing. ‘W’rk. Try t’ be who I w’s j’us ‘little. J’us ‘nuf re’mind m’sef w’ho I ‘am.”  _ Wanna take a trip. Anywhere. Need to do something. Work. Try to be who I was just a little. Just enough to remind myself who I am.  _

“You’re the guy who saves the world, Dean.”

“L’ts g’t b’ack to sav’in ‘t t’hen.”  _ Let’s get back to saving it then.  _

“Good to have you back, Dean.” 

“Sh’tup.” 

They sat in the library on computers, scrolling through articles and police reports, sightings and tips...waiting for the inevitable signs of a case that they, as fate decided long ago, would always chase after. No matter what. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

**A/N: Reviews/kudos/what you want from this story are my lifeblood...I only have an outline for where this story is headed so if you wanna see it go somewhere in particular (or at all) let me know!**


	3. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean head out on a road trip to visit Jody despite their apprehensions. The trip is taxing on them both, especially for Dean. But before they make it to their destination, they discover that the hunting life isn't so easily abandoned...

**A/N:** Hello all! The hunt begins…but not before the boys have some angst-inducing encounters.

Contains Chick-Flick moments--don’t tell Dean. ;)

( ) ( ) ( ) 

  
  


A couple days later, Dean was 48 hours into feeling strong and good and he was jumping out of his skin at the idea of leaving the bunker. Sam spent the day packing the car and turning down the blaring music emanating from Dean’s room. Happy to have Dean be so _Dean_ , Sam began to smile, and slowly started becoming more and more like _Sam._ While both brothers were beginning to fall back into their personalities, it meant that their more negative natural tendencies were also creeping back. Dean was becoming restless and pushy--waving off Sam’s offers of help and snapping back that he could do it himself. Likewise, Sam’s anxieties were exponentially rising and he was obsessed with making all kinds of plans. _How many pit stops should he plan? Would the trip need two days? It was a six hour drive straight there but he knew they’d have to stop. Though they’d both done their share of long trips, six hours of driving wasn’t fun and Sam wouldn't have a reliever. On top of that, Dean’s leg wouldn’t do well being cramped for too long and if he had a seizure they’d have to stop driving all together._ So Sam planned for any and all scenarios and on top of that, planned for multiple contingencies. His biggest concern, though, he didn’t know how to work around. 

Dean hadn’t been out of the bunker in months and it’s not like many people had stopped by. Sam was afraid that he and Dean would both have some social shock when they finally stepped foot outside. Even ignoring that potential disaster, where would they go? Despite the Winchesters’ countless road trips there was always a destination. Sam considered going to Jody’s and if he could make sure that Alex and Claire would be away; the boys loved those girls like family but Claire’s filter wasn’t exactly impermeable. Sam, at the moment, didn’t trust her not to say the wrong thing to Dean. But risks aside, the Sioux Falls girls would be the best option, Sam hoped. If he could convince his brother to take the trip, it would at least give them a destination, a focus, and a familiar face. One familiar, friendly face, he was hoping they could handle. 

Despite all this, however...despite the detailed planning and foresight...there was one reality that Sam could not bring himself to face. 

Baby.

Dean hadn’t driven since before the accident. And they both knew he would probably never drive again. Seeing the Impala...being in the Impala...he wasn’t sure what that might do to Dean. He was equally convinced that it would lift his spirits more than anything else, and that it would launch him into an insufferable, possibly unsurvivable depression. To say that Sam didn’t know what to do was an understatement. Instead of ruminating in his own head, he decided that the best course of action would be to bite the bullet and just ask Dean. Easier said than done, he soon learned. 

“Dean? I gotta ask you something and I’m sorry that I have to bring it up but I don’t know what else to do.” Sam was across from his brother--the carvings of their initials in his peripheral vision. 

“Y’eh?” _Yeah?_

Dean barely looked up from his laptop--clearly not as worried as Sam was. 

“If we take this trip, are we taking the car?”

Dean looked up, relatively expressionless with only slight confusion lingering on his face.

“Wh’t el’se w’ld w’ t’ke? A b’s?” _What else would we take? A bus?_

“Are we taking the Impala, Dean? C-can you… … are you gonna be ok with that?”

Sam’s voice faltered a bit, asking the question itself was enough to flood his veins with empathy and sorrow. Dean shut his computer, leaned onto the table, and looked at his younger brother with pride; Sam had the biggest heart of anyone he knew and anytime it swelled, Dean was proud of how they managed to keep some of Sam’s innocence alive. 

“S’m. T’h c’r h’s be’en s’t’ing in t’at g’ar’ge f’r m’nt’s.” _Sam. That car has been sitting in the garage for months._ “W’hen you m’ke a s’pp’ly r’n I k’ow you t’ke an’th’r c’r. It’s w’rse t’ h’ve h’er s’ittin’ t’re be’in i’gn’red l’ke sh’s l’vin in a j’nk’rd.” _When you make a supply run, I know you take another car. It’s worse having her sitting there being ignored like she’s in a junkyard._ “N-o. ‘M n’t g’nna d’rv a’g’n. B’t y’ou c’n. Th’ts go’od ‘nugh f’r me.” _No. I’m not gonna drive again. But you can. That’s good enough for me._

As much as Sam was heartbroken at his brothers’ capacity for accepting tragedy, he too was also proud. Trying to bury the conversation and save Dean from having to think more about it, Sam nodded and gave a stern, accepting affirmation. Dean leaned back in his chair once again, adjusting his ever-tense arm. 

“D’nt t’nk ‘m not g’nna r’de y’r ass ‘bo’ut h’ow y’ou h’ndle ‘er, t’ough.” 

_Don’t think I’m not gonna ride your ass about how you handle her, though._

( ) ( ) ( ) 

“S’ y’ou c’ll’d J’dy?” _So you called Jody?_

“For the 17th time, Dean, yes, I called Jody.”

“A’n sh’s c’oo’l w’ ‘s c’m’n?” _And she’s cool with us coming?_

“Man, you gotta relax. It’s _Jody--_ she loves us, Dean. I called and she couldn’t be happier we’re making the trip. She offered to come to us but I said we wanted to get out anyway.”

“Y’ d’nt t-tell me ‘at ‘fore.” _You didn’t tell me that before_

Sam looked over to Dean in the passenger seat and his cocked head met his rising shoulder--a mild shrug. 

“I didn’t want you to think that she was assuming you couldn’t travel, she just...she was trying to make things easiest for us. Cause she’s awesome like that--and she won’t have any problems, Dean. I promise.”

“H’w m’ch y’ t’ll ‘er?” _How much did you tell her?_

“She already knows. Nobody thinks it’s a problem other than you.”

“S’m. P’ls ‘jus s’top. E’vr’y h’nter ‘kno’ws I ‘c’me b’ck w’rong. No one k’nows h’how b’ad ‘t is. S’ j’ust be s’tr’t wit me and t’ll me w’hat sh’ kn’ws.” _Sam, please just stop. Every hunter knows I came back wrong. No one knows how bad it is. Just be straight with me and tell me how much you told her._

“She knows about the accident. About...you know.” Sam knew it was an unspoken agreement that Michael’s name was forbidden. “She knows how it happened. She knows that you don’t move great, that you sometimes have seizures and that your speech is impared. But she also knows that you’re still the man she knows and loves and respects and admires and there is nothing that will change the way she treats you.” 

“S’ure.”

Sam gave up on trying to convince Dean because he knew that the tension and anxiety pouring off his brother wouldn’t be able to be combated with any kind of reasoning or logic. They both needed to get back into the world; to start living in it again. Seeing people, dealing with problems…

They had always been used to improvising--to be the right men for when things go wrong. They’d become so accustomed to having no feat be too great; no challenge too big; no problem without a solution; no trap without a MacGyverism at the ready. Now? 

Now they had lost their touch. They’d fallen out of practice. They avoided obstacles and challenges at all costs. Their routines were created on the sole creed that every action should be made as painless as possible. And coming back into a world of unpredictability and seeming chaos appeared overwhelming. Sam couldn’t help but be reminded of his time addicted to demon blood. He feared the same phenomenon unfolding again. It all seemed so simple when he was addicted and only in his brutal detox did he start to realize that without the demon blood as a scapegoat solution, the world seemed too big and too scary. Sam and Dean had both been using Dean’s condition as an excuse to ignore what was too hard to face: adapting. This trip, though, would shock them out of it and force them back into having to roll with the punches. 

And that was a good thing.

Sam hoped. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Sam pulled into the relatively empty parking lot of the Founders Creek Diner after two hours in the car. Things had gone well so far and Dean seemed to be settling in. While he knew it was killing his brother not to drive, he was still getting a kick out of listening to his music. Not a moments’ thought was given to Dean’s rule from so many years ago: _Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole._ Neither brother acknowledged the now insensitive statement and Sam was perfectly happy to listen to Metallica and Bob Seger for six hours straight if it made Dean smile. Needing a meal and a break from the confines of the car, a stop seemed in order and Dean had agreed; he even added that his leg could use a stretch. But as Sam parked, the look of fear on his older brother’s face did not go unnoticed. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” 

“N-no.” 

“We don’t have to, Dean. Not yet. I can go in and get us something.”

“F’not n’w th’n w’hen, S’m?” _If not now then when, Sam?_

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” 

“M’gna g’t ‘t m’sef.” _Gonna get out myself_

Dean twisted his torso so that his left arm could reach the handle and open the door. Successfully popping the lock, Dean bent down to use the shoulder of his bad side to force the door open. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam leaning against the hood of the car. He was waiting patiently, giving him space, but staying close enough to help. Progressing, Dean concentrated on getting his leg outside the car which he successfully achieved. Moving to the second leg, he did the same. He rested for a moment, contemplating how with only one useful arm, he could balance while also pulling up his own weight. Never had he so considered the mechanics of _how_ one gets out of a car. Deciding that he didn't particularly want a face full of asphalt _before_ whatever hell awaited him inside the diner, he resigned to calling Sam. From his position at the front of the car, the taller man silently came over and offered his hand to Dean. 

“M’de ‘t h’lf’wy.” _Made it halfway_

“Didn’t take you that long either.” 

Sam kept his arm offered to Dean as they stepped towards the front door but Dean politely ignored it. Glancing back at Baby, Dean didn’t see any trace of the loathed blue card. As much as he hated the handicapped spot and the handicapped permit, he didn't want Baby’s windshield degraded by a freakin’ ticket. 

“S’ p’ut th’ p’rm’t--” _Sam, put the permit…?_ Sam cut him off and spared him from having to finish the sentence.

“It’s sitting on the dash.” 

Relieved, Dean followed Sam to the top of the ramp. Holding the door, Sam had Dean enter first and he was immediately accosted by a bouncy maitre d. 

“Table for two?” She asked. Nerves tingling, he remembered that he didn’t have to speak--he could nod. Doing so, he let out a held breath and let Sam be the first to trail behind the brunette. Thankfully, she led them to a booth and departed before Dean had to clumsily lower himself onto the cushioned seat. 

“Everything good, man?”

“Y’h.” _Yeah_

Dean wasn’t sure he meant it.

They both sat in silence, looking absently at food choices and listening to the snippets of conversation from the tables around them. 

“You find something to eat?”

“M’good, S’m.” _I’m good, Sam._

“Okay…” 

Breaking the tension of Dean’s nerves and Sam’s apprehension was a bubbly waitress who was quickly approaching. 

“Hello, boys! How are we doing today?” Thankfully, she looked to both of them and Sam responded. 

“We’re doing alright, thanks.” 

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” The redhead was peppy but professional and Sam spoke first again.

“I’ll have a Coke, thanks.” In the moment the waitress was writing, Dean shot Sam a questioning glance. 

“And for you?” She asked. Dean’s mouth went dry as his brain tried to remember how to properly form words. 

“Uhh..w’tr.” _Water_

Luckily, the pronunciation of the word was so widespread in its laziness that the waitress didn’t give it a second thought. As she departed, Dean felt a tension in his shoulders fall away--one he hadn’t known was present. Sam made no commentary and continued their conversation from the car. 

“So we’re about four hours from Jody’s--maybe a little more if we hit traffic…”

Sam continued but Dean wasn’t listening--he was too busy pronouncing words in his head...trying to match the easiest thing to say with a food he’d be able to most easily eat. It felt like a second grade activity--matching categories and drawing lines and finding which one didn’t belong. He was starting to think the outcast thing--the term that didn't belong-- was him. 

At the sight of the red-headed waitress returning, Dean’s hooked arm clenched in instinctual fear though no actual danger was present. Placing the Coke in front of Sam and the water in front of Dean, she turned away promising to be back in a minute for their order. Silently, Sam unwrapped the two straws, placed them in the glasses, and swapped the drinks: the soda now in front of Dean and the water in front of him. Staring at the new drink before him, Dean spoke quietly.

“Y’ n’vr ‘rder s’da.” _You never order soda_

“And you never order water.” Sam raised his brows in a playful defense. 

“T’o’ch’e” _Touche_

Dean used his good arm to slide his drink closer to the edge of the counter and he leaned down to sip from the straw--foam and carbonation mostly filling his mouth as opposed to the actual drink. 

“So if you’re feeling up to it we can try to get two more hours in today and then I’m gonna need a rest so we can get to Jody’s by tomorrow morning.” Sam spoke while still perusing the menu but looked up to see blank eyes staring back at him.

“Dean?” Sam asked. 

His brother ignored him and continued looking off to some non-distinct point behind Sam.

“Dean? What’s going on?”

“N’thin.” _Nothing_

Sam looked behind him in hopes of seeing whatever his brother had been staring at but found nothing remotely interesting. Suddenly, Sam was concerned that Dean was seeing things...things that weren’t really there. God knows their psyches and souls had been through enough that hallucinations weren’t exactly out of the question. 

“Dean, what do see?” Sam asked a little hesitantly and Dean immediately knew what Sam must be thinking. 

“See ‘b’g g’l’win li’ght ‘n a r’ly p’ssed ‘ff P’g’sly ‘Dms. T’hat’s n’rmal, r’t?” _See a big glowing light and a really pissed off Pugsley Addams. That’s normal, right?_

“Pug--did you just say Pugsley Addams?”

“N’t g’nna ‘pol’gize f’ l’vin ‘tat ‘wil g’uy. I’cnic.” _Not gonna apologize for loving that little guy. Iconic._

The would-be bizarre conversation came to a screeching halt when the waitress came back, ready to take their order. The dry, heavy lump returned to Dean’s throat and his arm throbbed but he decided that if he stared at his menu, he could choke the words out as long as he didn't have to embarrassingly look at her, as if she was the reason he couldn’t speak. He tuned out Sam’s voice and waited patiently for her to finish writing and turn to him. 

“And for you?” 

“B-b-r-g-e-r. M’d’um.” _Burger. Medium._

Dean waited in a state of panic to see if she’d understood, but the brief pause of her writing seemed to indicate that she had. 

“Do you want cheese or pickles?” 

Dean shook his head--avoiding any other prompting or decision making. Unfortunately, it was never that easy.

“The burger comes with either bacon or we can do an egg instead, if you’re feeling fancy. And then it usually comes with fries but we also have mozzarella sticks today if you wanted to substitute that instead…?” 

She waited politely for an answer but Dean was beyond overwhelmed. He was seething that she had made this more difficult than it needed to be. Amidst his anger, he caught what he’d been staring at over Sam’s shoulder: a reflection of himself. There he was, bum arm and all, captured perfectly in the window. He couldn’t stand to look at it and he couldn’t stand the waitress’ stupid, goddamn questions. He debated sending Sam a desperate look--the look that said ‘please do this for me’. But the reflection was still staring at him, daring him to give up. So Dean Winchester sat up a little straighter and attempted to slowly make his way through the information. 

“B-a-c’-n. ‘N f’r-i-e-s ‘fne. ‘Anks.” _Bacon and fries is fine. Thanks._

And miraculously, she tapped her pen on her pad for a final time and skirted away. 

“Dean?” Sam interrupted his brother’s moment of relief, but had nothing but motivational two cents. “I keep telling you that you’re getting better. You really are. And not for nothing but she was checking you out the whole time you were staring at that menu.” 

Sam allowed himself to imitate his brother for a moment--missing the fact that it was something that Dean would have said, once upon a time. Before Dean could respond to Sam’s remarks, they both paused at the voice of an older woman sitting nearby, though she wasn’t speaking to them. 

“It’s nice that they have programs these days where slow people can still try and be in the world. All these nice volunteers who take the simple people out and make sure they don’t have fits, try and teach them how to understand everybody else. That poor boy over there...I don’t think he understands much but it’s so nice that someone is willing to take him out and show him the town, you know?”

Without pause, without hesitation, or fear or stutter, Dean’s gaze burned holes in the back of her head and he said, 

“~ _H-he~_ c’an u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d y’ou j’us f’i’ne.” _He can understand you just fine._

The woman turned a bit, catching sight of Dean’s bitchy smirk and sheepishly sunk a little further into her chair and looked away. 

Sam made no comment, letting Dean do and say whatever he needed to. As much as Sam was desperate to jump in--it wasn’t his place unless Dean gave him the go ahead. They sat mostly in silence until the food came, at which point Dean shoveled in the burger and fries and thankfully didn’t have much difficulty eating. Eventually, though, the tension that had been in his cramped arm all day was becoming more and more painful. 

“G’ nee’d D’z’pm f’ m’ a’rm.” _Gonna need Diazepam for my arm._

“You also want Depakote then?” 

“G’ss c’n’t aff’rd not to.” _Guess I can’t afford not to._

Sam stood, and left the table to get Dean’s medications from the car. The remaining hunter was undisturbed by anyone else in the diner, other than his own reflection. Dean attempted to relax his shoulder, and use his working arm to force the crippled one away from his chest. Succeeding only in hurting himself more, Dean gave up and nodded to his double in defeat. 

Despite the fact that Dean was exhausted and angry and defeated (what a Winchester trifecta), he was proud that he and Sam had managed to hold together some semblance of normalcy and the old routine. The old _hunting_ routine. Stop into a town here, grab a bite to eat there, impersonate, stalk, save, and get the hell out of dodge. While the last four things weren’t exactly on the agenda, it was as close to their old life as they’d been in a long time. 

So by the time Sam came back inside with the medications, Dean sent his window-self a challenging look. A look as if to say: I dare you … tell me what I can’t do.

( ) ( ) ( ) 

The highways were unpopulated for the next few hours of the drive. Dean fell asleep, and Sam let his brother rest without nagging or interruption. Beginning to stir, though, Dean made a few unconscious moans and shifted in his seat even though he was clearly still out of it. Worried, Sam kept glancing over, making sure that nothing was wrong. Well--that nothing was _worse._

“Dean? Man, you good?” Sam’s question went unheard and the younger of the two started to worry that their little field trip was beginning to descend into the dark abyss of a bad idea. Dean had been feeling pretty well for a few days now. Except in all their preparations and excitement, Sam had forgotten that Dean became so easily exhausted. He doubted how much longer their lucky streak could last. Answering Sam’s fears was Dean’s sudden consciousness. 

“S’mmy? Th’nk g’na … s’z’” _Sammy? Think I’m gonna seize_

“I’ll pull over right now. I’m here.” 

“W’y ‘nt D’p’kte w’rkin? B’ls’it” _Why isn’t the Depakote working? Bullshit_

Sam pulled over to the shoulder, his eyes moving to Dean as frequently as he could manage without crashing. 

“You still ok?”

“G’t a’n’hr min.” _Got another minute_

“Ok, let’s move you to the backseat so you can lie down.”

Sam speedily moved to the passenger door where Dean was already reaching out his arm to be pulled up by. Wedging himself under Dean’s shoulder as he’d done so many times before, Sam counted to three and lifted. Shuffling back a few steps but still upright, Sam paused the motion to check in with Dean. 

“I’ll slide you in the back when you’re ready.” Sam felt Dean’s hand grip his shoulder and maneuvering himself so he could see Dean’s face, Sam noticed the furrowed brow and the painfully shut eyes. 

“Dean?” Sam attempted to maintain a calm tone and remember that Dean could begin seizing at any point so he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“S’o d’zzy.” _So dizzy_

On cue, Dean lost what little balance he had, and keeled over, puking just short of Sam’s shoes. Pitifully patting his brother’s back, Sam waited for the spell to subside. When Dean’s spitting seemed to slow, he meekley stood again, eyes still closed. Practically whispering, Sam checked in. 

“Can I get you anything?” Dean was silent, thickly swallowing. Moving to a more pressing question, Sam didn’t wait for a response. 

“Want me to lay you down?” Clearing his throat, Dean responded,

“Dn’t ‘t’hin g’n h’v ‘un. Ju’s n’au’sus I g’ss.” _Don’t think I’m gonna have one. Just nauseous I guess._

“Sorry.”

“B’tr t’en al’tr’n’tve.” _Better than the alternative_

“Not gonna argue with that.”

“S’t’pd ‘dep’kt ‘kes me ss’ s’ck.” _Stupid Depekote makes me so sick_

“Arm any better though?” 

“F you c’ount a’ch’in ‘n’stead of c’rmping, t’en yes.” _If you count aching instead of cramping, then yes._

Looking up at the nearby tree line, Dean cocked his head gingerly observing something that Sam had yet to notice. 

“M’ n’t hal’c’nt’ng, r’t?” _I’m not hallucinating, right?_

Mimicking Dean’s line of sight, Sam attempted to notice anything that seemed noteworthy. 

“..Depends. What are you seeing?” Sam’s words were nervous, but not yet paranoid. 

“Y’u see ‘clw m’rks on ‘grp ‘ins t’ ‘ft?” _You see claw marks … …?_ Sam couldn’t decipher the latter half of the sentence. 

“Where?” He clarified. 

“P’ns. ‘ft.” _… …_ Sam still had no guesses.

Disappointed in himself, Sam gave Dean puppy dog eyes and a serious pout in attempt to make up for his lack of understanding. Thinking for a moment, Dean was quiet before executing his plan. 

“C’r’sm’s. Y’u d’ance w’t two f’ th’se.” 

“Christmas? And I dance with two of these…?” Sam pondered. 

Dean, proud of his clues, desperately awaited Sam figuring it out. 

“C’mn S’mmy.” _C’mon, Sammy_

“I’m trying, Dean. I feel like I’m playing charades!” 

Silence dropped like an iron curtain--a line crossed.

Dean’s face dropped--the smile wiped clean off. 

Sam felt the hot rush of shame flood his body but he ignored the moment, still trying to piece together Dean’s clues. Now was not the time for a roadside argument. Taking one more glance, Sam figured it out though he felt no pride or reward from his decoding. 

“Christmas time...oh-- _Pine trees_ ...and I dance with two _left_ feet. Pine trees on the left. I got it.” 

Still shameful, Sam awkwardly held out a hand to Dean who batted it away, instructing Sam to just go check it out. 

Dean leaned against the car, trying to determine if there was really anything there. He knew that it was likely that he was seeing what he wanted to, and not what was actually there. Losing sight of Sam amongst some of the brush, he called out.

“ ‘A’ny’ing?” _Anything?_

Sam’s higher voice echoed through the woods as Dean once again caught sight of him--his tan jacket visible through the greenery. 

“Well…”

“S’sp’nse ‘s k’llin me, S’mmy...w’nna s’are w’ t cl’ass?” _Suspense is killing me, Sammy. Wanna share with the class?_

“It looks like… I don’t know. It’s definitely some kind of claw mark but it’s not a werewolf, not a bear...I’ll take some pictures and bring it back!” Sam shouted back to Dean, took an extra minute to take a few pictures, and then began the short trek back to the car. Emerging from the woods, Sam held the phone in front of Dean who was still relying heavily on the car for balance. 

“L’ks l’ke ‘wlf c’laws...a’ny dis’p’rences?” _Looks like wolf claws. Any disappearances?_

“Nothing I read about, but I’ll do a quick search.” 

Sam took his phone back and promptly typed away--searching for anything out of the ordinary. His face scrunched up and he let out a confused sound after landing on a particular article. 

“A couple towns right outside of Sioux Falls have had old men wander away from nursing homes...they’re saying the three men all suffered from dementia.”

“T’hree old m’n?” _Three old men?_

Sam nodded.

“S’m? Y’ou b’ttr c’ll J’ody. I th’nk I ‘know w’as g’o’in on.” _Sam? You better call Jody. I think I know what’s going on._

“You know what this is? This is a hunt?”

“we ‘btt’r g’t a m’ve on, S’mmy. W’re huntin an A’dl’et.” _We better get a move on, Sammy. We’re hunting an Adlet._


	4. Destinations, Hesitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt now uncovered, the boys’ trip to Jody’s becomes complicated. On top of that, Dean’s health begins to worsen now that their routine has been broken. A mysterious warning from Cas, a loving Jody, and rising stakes all make guest appearances.

**A/N: I hope you are all staying safe and trying to find sanity during quarantine through fanfic. I know I am. Another way I’m keeping busy is by writing SPN songs. Please check out my video…(hopefully if you like this story, you’ll like the song too)<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TO40QXN2g8I>**

**Apologies for the long notes and annoying self-promotion…**

**Enjoy!**

**A/N:** The pacing of this chapter is a little odd--sorry about that.

Picks up right where chapter three left off, on the side of the road.

( ) ( ) ( )

“You’re sure this is a hunt?” Sam was gentle with his questioning but bold enough to ask it in the first place.

“An I’nuit c’reat’re. H’f m’n, h’f w’lf. L’gend s’ys ‘ey ‘nt ‘eir ‘gr’nd’fer...t’ one ‘at ‘unted ‘em ‘fter d’scvring w’t ‘ey ‘re.” _An Inuit creature. Half man, half wolf. Legend says they try and kill their grandfather...the one that hunted them after discovering what they were._

“The missing old men…” Sam understood how Dean came to his conclusion and bobbed his head back and forth considering the legitimacy. “We’ll fill Jody in when we get there and see if we can’t find more, ok?”

Dean smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Y’ know ‘eres ‘unt.” _You know there’s a hunt_

“I’m not admitting to anything, Dean. We’ll _see.”_

Dean mocked his brother by nodding in sarcastic agreement.

“S-sure.”

Sam feigned displeasure but was secretly thankful to receive his brothers’ stupid glee; Sam hadn’t forgiven himself for his snide remark about playing charades, even if Dean had. After a beat, Sam shifted and began wondering if it was time to get back in the car. Noticing that Dean had made no effort to move, Sam was concerned that he still didn’t feel well.

“You still feeling sick?”

“N’t ‘t ‘moment bt g’nn be ‘s ‘soon ‘s I g’et in h c-car.” _Not at the moment but I’m gonna be as soon as I get in the car._

“Let’s not rush to Jody’s. Besides, if you show up at her doorstep overtired and grouchy she’s never gonna want to invite us back.” Sam ended the comment with a smirk before continuing. “We’ll get a room tonight and we can finish the trip in the morning.”

“Y’eah. ‘Pr’bly g’ood ‘dea.” _Yeah. Probably a good idea_

Sam hid his mild concern at the idea of Dean agreeing to rest. Then again, maybe there was no need to be concerned at all; his brother seemed to be getting better at taking care of himself--a welcomed surprise in the midst of all things horrible. Sam waited patiently, as usual, for Dean to get his strength back. The taller man busied himself with continuing to read about the recent disappearances and “refreshing” his knowledge of Adlets. Knowledge, that he confessed, was pretty much non-existent.

Dean had a few labored breaths--enough that Sam stepped towards him. Dean’s adam’s apple bobbed like a bouy but the shaking of his brother’s head paused Sam’s approach. Dean used his good hand to steady himself on the roof of the car as he puked again. Spitting, Dean kept his head down but made a crack dripping with sarcasm.

“M’ so g’ld we st’pp’d f’r l’nch.” _I’m so glad we stopped for lunch_

Interrupting the moment (though not necessarily a bad moment to be interrupting in the first place) was the ringing of Sam’s phone. Noting that Dean was fine, Sam stepped away a few feet and picked up happily at the sight of the caller.

“Hey, Cas. Everything good?”

The angel’s voice on the other end of line carried an undercurrent of trepidation.

“Yes, I’m fine. Is--you’re with Dean, I assume?”

“Yeah. We uhh...kinda took your advice, actually. We’re on our way to visit Jody.”

“And Dean is…” Cas trailed off, unsure of how he wanted to phrase his inquiry.

“Well we’re pulled off the road and he’s puking at the moment but he’s been ok.”

Sam spoke with a levity that Cas hadn’t been expecting, but one that wasn’t unwelcome. Through the phone, though it wasn't on speaker, the angel heard some kind of muffled banter between the two hunters that seemed to end in mutual laughter.

“So what’s up?”

“I’m just checking in. Making sure Dean is still--”

Not one for subtlety, Cas had difficulty masking his intent. Sam picked up on it immediately.

“Cas, what’s going on?”

“Now’s not the best time if Dean is…” The angel rephrased, finding a better way to send his message to Sam. “I can wait for a time when Dean’s _indisposed_ rather than eating up your time now. I can check in after you two are more settled.”

Sam hid his worry like the professional he was and ended the call with a casual goodbye, but not before Cas sent his genuine well-wishes to Dean. Hanging up, Sam walked back to the car where Dean was making a move to climb back in the passenger side.

“W-h’d C’as w’nt? V’ry’ing ok?” _What’d Cas want? Everything ok?_

“He was just checking in. You ready to get a move on?”

“W’ll m’ h’ngry ‘gain so I f’gure I g’t it ‘ll o’ut.” _Well I’m hungry again so I figure I got it all out_

“That’s disgusting, dude.”

Dean grinned wide and proud and Sam shuffled him into the seat before pulling back onto the road and following signs to the nearest lodging.

( ) ( ) ( )

Settling in at the Blue Fields motel, Sam unpacked what little they had even though they’d probably only stay the night. Sam tried pushing Dean to eat something but the older man complained that he was still nauseous. Sam attempted to bury the worry he had about Dean and food. It seemed like a specific fear, but every time they went to eat he was afraid that Dean would refuse, that he’d start losing weight...that it was a sign that Dean was giving up. Sometimes, though, Dean just didn’t feel like eating. Sam tried reminding himself that he didn’t need to freak every time Dean declined a meal.

Settling on the bed closer to the bathroom, Dean held the TV remote in his hooked hand and scrolled through his phone with the other. Confused by why the remote was lodged in the useless hand, Sam’s face twisted in a lack of understanding.

“You don’t even have the TV on…?”

Dean didn’t bother looking away from his phone to reply.

“J’us st’r’chin it. P’lms been cr’mping.” _Just stretching it. Palm’s been cramping_

“You want me to take a look?”

“M’fine f’r n’ow. ‘nks.” _I’m fine for now. Thanks_

Sam retrieved his laptop from the counter and sat at the small desk, doing the most basic of searches to try and determine if there really was a hunt; he was still hesitant to admit that there was anything going on. Even if there was something happening, he was confident they would have to walk away. The simplest of salt-n-burns would be nearly impossible for Dean, let alone a hunt for a creature they’d never faced (and at that, one Sam had hardly ever heard of). But these decisions didn’t have to be made yet, so Sam tabled the thoughts and committed only to the innocuous act of searching the web.

“Y’ w’nna c’ll J-ody? L’et her k’now we’re n’t c’min jus’ ‘et? _” You wanna call Jody? Let her know we’re not coming just yet?_

“I sent her a text earlier. She said that anytime we wanna come by is fine with her and she’s making sure to stock the kitchen.”

Sam relayed the message with a smile and hoped that it would bring Dean the same joy. His brother made a fake attempt at positivity before giving way to disappointments.

“F’eel l’ke w’re mo’vin ‘n c’rcles, m’n. I’m t’ryin to k’eep ‘p b’ut I’m e’husted. H’vn’t ‘ven d’ne a’nyhing. On’c ‘pon a ‘tme w’ c’luda m’de ‘is t’rip ‘n a day ‘n st’l h’ve pl’nty of t-ime t’ sp’re.” _Feel like we’re moving in circles, man. I’m trying to keep up but I’m exhausted. Haven’t even done anything. Once upon a time we could have made this trip in a day and still had plenty of time to spare_

“Dean.” Sam spoke his brother’s name with a tone that indicated he would be monologuing for a while. “A few months ago you had trouble standing. You were having seizures multiple times a day...I could barely understand you...we couldn’t manage walking three feet let alone--”

Dean cut off his brothers’ rehashing of the worst months of Dean’s life.

“Y’eah. G’et it, S’m.” _Yeah. I get it, Sam_

“My point is--we’ve been driving across the country, stopping to eat, finding a hunt, visiting friends... This isn’t any different from _before._ You keep getting better, Dean. We keep getting better. I just want us to remember that.”

Sam kept his tone from sounding too serious or preachy and tried to go about his research as if nothing had happened. Dean seemed to follow his brothers’ lead and went back to scrolling through his phone; Sam assumed that he too was researching the case.

An hour passed with little excitement and Sam noticed Dean beginning to doze off. Snapping awake every few minutes, Dean would blink wide-eyed and attempt to continue reading whatever was on his phone.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice snapped him back into semi-consciousness. “Just go to bed, man.”

“ m’ n’d s’y ‘wk ‘r’ n ‘r.”

Sam, havingno chance at deciphering the phrase, hoped that it was just fatigue inspired babble.

“It’s fine, Dean. Just go to bed.”

Pleased that Dean put down the remote and the phone, Sam continued reading. Adlets were, in fact, half-man, half-wolf creatures that were created when a woman mated with a dog. Pushing uncomfortable imagery aside, Sam continued studying. The woman’s father, after discovering his daughters’ offspring, hunted them. Of course, the creatures decided to hunt him right back. Ever since their creation, Adlets have been hunting those that resemble the one that first attacked them. After sifting through newspaper microfilms for the next hour and half, Sam had finally put together a pattern: three to seven missing seniors (always men), every four years. The pattern, though pretty obvious, was always ignored because old people wandered off all the time. Sam guessed that authorities just assumed that some poor guys suffering from dementia wandered off and if no one kicked up too much fuss, it was easier just to ignore.

Noting the time, Sam rubbed his eyes, closed his laptop, and let exhaustion consume him. His body wasn’t tired--not really. But Sam’s mind? His mind was debilitated. Concern for Dean never went away--it ruled his every waking (and non-waking) moment. And Sam wasn’t an idiot--he knew that his brother tried equally hard to assuage Sam’s constant panic. But Dean could only be so convincing in his consolations.

Their trip was bringing Sam a sense of comfort, though. A routine that Sam hadn’t practiced in a while, sure, but a familiar one nonetheless. With all the changes of the last year, familiarity was a much needed presence.

Having already put away his notes and having unpacked earlier, Sam considered rewarding himself with just simply falling into bed. Organization always seemed to get the better of him, though, and he quickly resigned himself to setting up the room for any of Dean’s possible nighttime needs. Of course Dean could always wake him, but the oldest Winchester still had pride; pride that would be broken if he had to wake his little brother up to help him take a midnight tinkle. So Sam opened the bathroom door, left a water bottle on the counter, along with loosened pill bottles. He wedged a pillow between the nightstand and the head of Dean’s bed, lest he accidentally whack himself in the middle of the night. He left his phone charging by the TV and set the screen to never lock; the faint glowing allowed enough light to fill the room that it wasn’t pitch black, but wasn’t too bright to sleep with. Not only that, but it appeared to be almost accidental--it didn’t look too much like Sam had left Dean an intentional night-light. With everything finally in place, Sam rubbed his face a final time before collapsing onto the cheap mattress. His eyes had been closed for only a few seconds before he remembered.

Cas.

In some kind of effort for self-preservation, Sam had written off the strange call as an awkward communication. Moments before sleep, though, Sam began to let panic creep in. What did Cas need to share with Sam but not Dean? Knowing from experience that fears shouldn’t be allowed to fester, Sam stopped himself from hypothesizing and instead stepped outside to call the angel. The temperature was surprisingly comforting to Sam--a mild evening with a cool breeze...enough humidity that it wasn’t too dry. Allowing himself a rare moment alone, he took a deep breath before pulling out his cell. Finally dialing, Sam waited two torturous rings before Cas picked up.

“Sam. Is everything still alright?”

“Cas, man, you gotta cut the cryptic tone, ok? You’re really starting to freak me out.”

“I’m sorry. I’m...concerned about you two, about Dean, about Heaven--I’m just having trouble keeping everything straight.”

“Cas, is something happening in Heaven? Is M--” Sam couldn’t bring himself to finish the name and Castiel did him the courtesy of not finishing it either.

“Nothing to do with him. Not directly anyways. Anytime an archangel dies there is just an...an unbalance that occurs in Heaven. A ripple, if you will. There isn’t anything to do, Heaven is just readjusting.”

“But that’s not why you called me.”

Sam was growing impatient and his active imagination was generating scenarios of such horror that he desperately needed Cas to just break whatever news he had.

“Is Dean--” Cas trailed off again, waiting for Sam to fill in the necessary information.

“He’s fine and he’s asleep. Cas, what the hell is going on?”

“When I spoke to Dean at the bunker.” Cas ended his first sentence prematurely. “I offered to try and heal him. Not truly heal him, but temporarily ease his pain.”

Sam listened patiently, working on preparing himself for tragic news.

“And I saw inside his head. Briefly. At first, I only saw what I’d seen before...the crack that--Michael-- left...what it did to Dean. But then I saw something new. A kind of scale, if you will.”

“Cas, what are you trying to say?” Sam asked.

“In Dean's mind there is a balance. A balance between light and dark, joy and tragedy, pride and regret, physical and mental...they’re a series of scales that exist within every mind. And when _he_ left, he disrupted the scales. Dean’s mental and physical balance was dismantled and Dean’s body, whether or not he’s aware, has been attempting to regain that balance. But Michael’s power is still alive in Dean. Just a trace, but enough to continue disrupting the balance.”

“Cas, please. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m afraid Dean’s mind is so focused on regaining its balance, it may worsen his mental state in order to match his physical one.”

Sam’s chest tightened and he stumbled back. The wind had been knocked out of him. His knuckles turned white clutching the phone and a dry lump formed in his throat.

It was the feeling he got before he cried.

Cas was silent on the other end of the line, trying desperately not to let his own emotion rule his words. The angel’s wings had always been heavy with burden but never as much as they were after Dean’s possession. An angel, one of the only creatures capable of pulling a soul from hell; an angel, one of the only creatures capable of truly damning one. And Cas, at the end of the day, was an angel. His title always laying heavy on his wings.

“Sam. I’m not saying this will happen. I have no idea, I truly don’t. But after all we’ve been through, you deserve to know all that I do.”

Regaining a sliver of composure, Sam willed himself to asking a question.

“Does...does Dean have any control over this? Is it a part of his mind that--” Sam struggled. “Cas when we found him locked away in his memories--the bar where _he_ hid Dean. Dean could control that. Is this something he can control?”

“Hypothetically, yes. But much like his fake memory, he can’t control it if he isn’t aware of it. I would have to show him the scales. But showing him that...it risks disrupting the balance even more.”

“Ok well we’ll just--” Sam’s voice broke. “We’ll just have to figure it out as we go.”

“Sam--” The angel began to protest but Sam cut him off.

“I promise to check in soon, ok? I need to get some sleep.” Sam wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not tonight. But he needed the space.

“Yes, I understand. Call me for anything. And obviously I mean the cellphone but...I’m listening for your prayers too. Always.” The angel let the point hit home before adding a concluding thought. “The both of you are my ‘go-to station.’” Cas attempted levity and actually succeeded in making Sam grin. Despite the circumstances, the Winchester was grateful that Cas had become such a brother.

“Dean will want to hear from you. Call again tomorrow.”

“I will. And hopefully with good news.”

“Thank you, Cas.”

“Anytime.”

With that, Sam hung up the phone, headed back inside, and sat awake on his bed. Attempting tirelessly to fall asleep, exhaustion finally won. For the first time in months, no nightmares came. Sam didn’t know what that meant, but allowed himself to feel a twinge of hope. Dangerous, yes, but Sam couldn’t survive without it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Stirring from an unexpectedly peaceful sleep, Sam glared at the alarm clock through squinted eyes. 3:43am. Looking to the other bed, Sam saw Dean resting fitfully. The covers had been kicked to the end of the bed, his leg was bent at what must have been an uncomfortable angle, and though a subtle movement, Sam could see Dean’s bad shoulder flexing. Despite the apparent discomfort, Dean was lightly snoring. Sam took the peaceful moment to reflect on what Cas had told him; Dean might get worse. Much worse. So much worse that Dean might start to not seem like Dean anymore. It terrified Sam more than anything had. More than death, more than the cage, more than the apocalypse. It was all Sam could do to remind himself that nothing was set in stone. Cas wasn’t sure of anything. And besides, how many times had the Winchesters been told that something was fate, destiny, unavoidable, inevitable...and how many times had that truly been the case? Of course, there was also a small piece of Sam that felt guilty for being so terrified of Dean’s mental capabilities slipping. He knew it wouldn’t mean that he’d love his brother any less, it wouldn’t change all that they’d been through… But it would mean that new routines would need to be made, new memories would need to be created, and new identities taken up. Sam would miss the ease of their relationship. He was too selfish to be okay with starting over.

But he would.

Of course he would.

In a heartbeat.

The clock, now reading 3:51am, encouraged Sam to try and fall back asleep. Tomorrow would be another long day. Not only that, but he’d have to try and bury what Cas had told him. Dean couldn’t know lest it worsen his state unintentionally. Until Sam and Cas found a way to tell him safely, it would have to be kept under wraps.

When did that ever usually work out for them?

( ) ( ) ( )

Sam, still in the motel bed, startled awake to the sound of Dean’s hoarse, throaty shrieks. Sam had been conditioned to learn the difference between his brothers’ intentional, conscious noises, and the ones he made unconsciously. This sound, in all its horror, was the result of air being forced through Dean’s vocal chords as his diaphragm seized. It had been a while since Dean had a seizure in his sleep, or right after waking up, but Sam wasn’t thrown. The number of hours he had spent memorizing and familiarizing himself with all kinds of symptoms and diagnosis and conditions and syndromes had prepared him for anything.

Rapidly moving from his place in the bed, Sam approached Dean and gently rolled him on his side. Already stiff, Dean’s body was in its tonic phase and Sam waited for the jerking to begin. On cue, Dean’s form shook with continuous clenching and relaxing. All the while, horrible sounds emanated from his throat. Despite the seeming chaos, Sam was hopeful that this wouldn’t be a long one...that Dean would wake up a little drained, but ready to get on with the day. Sam’s hopes were shot down by the sight of Dean’s darkening pants, and the wetting of the sheets. Dean would be furious at the whole situation, embarrassed, and understandably upset. Excusing the irony of the metaphor, Sam watched the day’s positivity get flushed down the proverbial toilet.

Thankfully, though, the fit slowed and Dean went into a clonic state: his body falling entirely limp on the bed.

Almost entirely, that is.

Sam bowed his head at the sight of Dean’s involuntary erection. Once upon a time, Sam would have gone red-faced with embarrassment and would have wanted nothing more than to maintain privacy. Now, all it was to him was a symbol of how broken and depressed Dean would be for the rest of the day. No amount of reading and doctors and medical professionalism could convince Dean that it wasn’t a big deal. Dean had never been shy about his body or sex or anything of that nature, but somehow, when it related to his current state, he couldn’t stand it. Sam hypothesized that it was because it reminded him how little control he had over his own body. Puberty may have created similar circumstances (Dean having re-lived that too, not long ago), but it was different as a grown man. Dean was losing control of himself much earlier than he was supposed to; losing control of the most intimate part of himself. It stood for the possibility of what else he might lose; a possibility that now seemed more terrifying than ever.

Sam understood Dean’s attitude about the whole thing, he really did. But he also wished that his brother could learn to exist with one less burden on his shoulders. Of all the things to worry about, a seizure-induced boner was not one of them.

For both their sakes, Sam prayed that it would go away before Dean woke up.

Of course, Sam wasn’t so lucky.

Dean’s eyes flitted open and his head moved back and forth a few times before settling on Sam’s face.

“ ‘sz’ ‘n ma sl’p?” _Seize in my sleep?_

“Yeah. I think you were about to wake up.”

Dean shifted a little on the bed, his face falling immediately.

“S’ w’et. S’ry.” _It’s wet. Sorry_

“I don’t care. C’mon. Let’s get you up.”

Sam leaned in to help Dean sit up but before any moment occurred, Dean let out a discouraged sigh.

“W’ss…’t’s n’ot ‘nly ‘ing at’s up.” _...Not the only thing that’s up_

Sam didn’t have a response at the ready and certainly not one that Dean wanted to hear. Leaning in once again, Sam was met with resistance.

“F’ee’l f’ne. J’us l’t me d’eal w’ ‘t m’self, ok?” _I feel fine. Just let me deal with this myself, ok?_

“You sure you d--” Sam didn’t come close to finishing before Dean’s anger cut him off.

“W’ld you j’us g’ve me s’me sp’ce? a-alone? E’ryt’me I p’ss t’ b’ed you h’afta b-e w’tchin? H’fta h’ve you s’it ‘an w’tch my b’dy...my s’ex l’f--” _Would you just give me some space? Alone? Every time I piss the bed you have to be watching? Have to have you sit and watch my body, my sex life--_

Dean stopped himself before saying things he didn’t want to hear himself; stopped before saying things he regretted. Sam stood dutifully; puppy eyes mourning the positive steak they had just broken. The sight of what Dean perceived as Sam’s pity only enraged the older man more. Why didn’t Sam defend himself? Why didn't he tell Dean to screw himself--to go to hell? Why did Sam have to be so good at taking care of him?

“J’us y’ell ‘t me. P’lse. T’ll me w-at a j-rk i’m b-bein.” _Just yell at me. Please. Tell me what a jerk I’m being_

“I’m not doing anything wrong.” Sam made the assertion sternly and Dean accepted it with gratitude.

“F’inally. G’t a n’rmal r’action o’ta you.” _Finally. Got a normal reaction out of you_

But Sam wasn’t finished with his thought.

“I’m not doing anything wrong but neither are you. We’re just doing the best we can. Like always. So I’m gonna go get breakfast and coffee and you can take care of whatever you need to.”

Dean nodded in agreement but the shadow of fear across his face was noticeable from a mile off. As worried as Dean was to be left alone, Sam was twice as afraid to be the one leaving him. But progress had to be made. And Dean had made good points...his mental state couldn’t benefit from being coddled or from being watched. Distance had to be allowed for. Luckily, there was a safeguard.

“Cas is always around. He’ll come if you need.”

Sam extended the invitation even though Dean was always aware.

“I k-n-o-w.”

Sam sighed and grabbed his coat as Dean lumberingly sat up.

“Pancakes good?”

“A’w’ays.” _Always_

With that, Sam left the room, and Dean let an emotional sound emerge from his chest. This, unlike other sounds, was intentional. It was something between a sigh and a laugh...not fully formed and not premeditated. It was purely reactionary.

They really were getting better.

And with Jody’s visit on the horizon, they’d finally have someone to share it with.

( ) ( ) ( )

Pulling into the driveway, Dean turned off the sound of the country station. Half an hour into the last leg of their trip to Sioux Falls, Dean’s guilt had reached a point where he allowed Sam to take over music selection. Despite his excitement, Dean was also nervous--he couldn’t help it. No one besides Sam and Cas had seen him since the incident. And while he trusted Jody, it was still hard for him to show weakness to anyone. Sam turned the ignition off and wordlessly exited the car, coming around to the passenger side. Opening the door for Dean, he waited for permission to physically help him up.

“Your leg still bad?” Sam questioned, knowing that it had been acting up since last night.

“I’live.” _I’ll live_

Dean gestured casually for Sam to extend an arm and Sam complied. Their weights properly balanced, the boys made it out of the car safely and began the short walk to the front door. Limping, Dean looked to the couple of porch steps with defeat.

“It’s only a few steps, Dean. You’ll be fine.”

“J’dy b’tter n’t b’e w’tchin ‘through ‘h win’dow.” _Jody better not be watching through the window_

“Oh yeah. I’m sure she’s got a camera and everything. Just waiting to watch you fall on your ass.”

“W’ldn’t b’lame ‘er. I’m t’mping ‘tat way. V’ry p’hto’g’nic.” _Wouldn’t blame her. I’m temping that way. Very photogenic_

“If you’re that interested in Jody I’d be happy to be your wingman.”

Sam smirked, swallowing a childish giggle.

“Oh s’hutup.” _Oh shut up_

Arriving at the base of the steps, Dean leaned heavily on Sam as he maneuvered his heavy boot up onto the concrete step. Repeating the process, both boys were standing on the bland welcome mat and Sam extended his fist to knock on the door. Waiting for Jody to arrive, Dean’s arm clenched against his chest--the nervous reaction he’d developed. Footsteps on the other side of the door indicated her approach. A moment later, the front door swung open to reveal Jody Mills in her standard plaid shirt--smile wide on her face.

“It is so good to see you boys.” She reached out to hug Sam and the male hunter swore he felt a tear fall from her face onto his shoulder. By the time she retracted though, there was no trace. Imperceptibly waiting a second to gauge Dean’s attitude about physical contact, she concluded that a hug was, in fact, in order.

“Oh Dean. I am so happy to see you, you’ve got no idea.”

Hugging her back with the one arm he had free, he noticed that she wasn’t putting any weight onto him--looking out for him as usual.

“R’eal g’ood t’ s’yu t’oo, J’dy.” _Real good to see you too, Jody_

Dean dry swallowed in reaction to his imperfect speech. It was understandable, he hoped, but he knew he could do better. Waving them inside, Jody slipped into her familiar disposition.

“You boys better be hungry because I have three chickens marinating, more pounds of potato than should be legal to keep in a single household, and as a welcoming present I’m also making Claire’s favorite: my macaroni and cheese.” As she spoke, she waved for them to sit on the couch and even though he’d been sitting for most of the past few days, Dean rested thankfully. Sam, on the other hand, stood stretching his legs.

“Don’t treat me like a stranger! Sam, you can sit on my couch. Even Dean knows I don’t have cooties.”

Saving Sam from having to come up with a polite defense, Dean just told Jody the truth.

“H’s b’e-en d’oin a’ll t’the d’r’iving. C’ou’ld p’ro’b’ly u’se to s’tre’tch.” _He’s been doing all the driving. Could probably use to stretch._

Dean tried his best to annunciate but it was already becoming tiresome. Jody didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding, though, and she let the moment pass.

“So how have the girls been? You run into any problems here?” Sam questioned genuinely.

“Alex and Claire are off on a college tour road trip which means a college-party road trip but they’ve been checkin’ in every day so I can’t complain. And things have been quiet here. No dead cows, no electrical storms, no bodies drained of blood...all is quiet on the Sioux Falls front. What about you? Anything interesting?”

“Not much we’ve heard about.” Sam replied.

“E’x’c’pt…” _Except…_

Jody smirked and looked back and forth between the boys.

“What am I missing?”

“On the way here we may have--”

“W’w d-i-d--” _We did_

“We saw some claw marks in the woods just outside of town. Dean nagged me to look up any strange reports and well...three old men went missing. Haven’t been found.”

“I’m gathering that you two think those things are related.”

“Dean thinks it’s an Adlet.” Sam snapped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows on the end of the phrase in an attempt to lightly mock Dean’s theory. Sam believed Dean was right, but he also liked being in a jovial mood and poking fun was a part of that. Jody’s lips pursed lightly and she stared at the wall before summarizing.

“Now I’m also gathering that these Adlet things are bad and that I now have a job to work.” She paused as Dean and Sam made apologetic glances. “You’re magnets for weird, I swear. Remind me not to invite you boys over anytime I’m using vacation days.”

“We’r- n’t j’st d’ump’n c’se on y, J’y. W’r g’n w’rk ‘t w’ y-ou.” _We’re not just dumping the case on you, Jody. We’re gonna work it with you_

The moment he finished speaking, he recognized the look on her face; the expression people made when they felt bad that they didn’t understand him. Before Dean tried again, or before Jody made the awkward confession, Sam swooped in and saved the day.

“Dean and I have been talking about hunting again but we don’t have a plan yet we’re just gonna take things one step at a time.”

“Well...can our first step involve you helping me destroy Claire’s high score on Wordscapes?”

“Wordscapes?” Sam questioned

“T’s l’ke a c’rss b’e’tw’n sc’rabble ‘an w’ord s’earch.” _It’s like a cross between scrabble and a word search_

Sam shot Dean a puzzled look--they spent nearly every hour together and Sam had no memory of Dean ever playing the game. Giving an endearing response, Dean shrugged and looked to Jody as an audience member.

“Y’ou ne’ed to s’leep s’ome’time.” _You need to sleep some time…_

Sam acted mock-offended, but was honestly a little curious.

“You have a game you play specifically when I’m sleeping?”

“S’nds c’reep’y’en y’ou p’ut ‘t l’ke ‘hat.” _Sounds creepy when you put it like that_

Jody interrupted, then, and turned the conversation back to its initial point.

“So I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

With that, she sat next to Dean and pulled her phone from her pocket.

( ) ( ) ( )

“How do you see the word ‘Czar’ first thing?” Sam complained.

“It’s a g’ft, S’mmy.” _It’s a gift, Sammy_

“I, for one, am just glad that Claire and Alex will be too busy trying to catch up to my new high score for them to fight with each other.” Jody smiled and left her phone on the coffee table, saying that she was going to put the chickens in the oven. In the moment she was gone, Dean slumped a little further into the couch and even closed his eyes. Worried, Sam put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Dean? You ok?”

“G’ttin d’zzy. L’ttl w’ped.” _Getting dizzy. Little wiped_

“You probably need to hydrate. I’ll get you some water, ok?”

Dean nodded before sinking even deeper into the cushions. Sam quickly went to the kitchen and tried giving Jody a quick update without freaking her out too much.

“Hey--Dean’s not feeling great. I’m gonna run to the car and grab some things. He’ll be ok but keep an eye.”

Jody’s brows raised in concern and apprehension but her mom, Sheriff poker face was slapped on immediately afterwards.

“Should I do anything?”

“He’s probably embarrassed so just keep an ear out. I’ll be right back.” Sam turned to head out the front door and Jody snuck a glance into the living room; Dean had laid himself on his side, still on the couch, and made a few sputtering breaths. Her worry growing, Jody crossed the threshold and approached the prone man.

“Dean?” The woman, filled with empathy, couldn’t come up with anything more to say. In response, Dean moaned and tried sputtering out a warning. All embarrassment thrown out the window.

“Eeeze.”

Despite Jody’s lack of practice in understanding Dean’s speech, she put it together instantaneously. _Seize._ Her motherly instincts kicked into overdrive, she approached him and reached out to roll him on his side.

“SAM!” Jody called loudly for the other man but her voice soon dropped to a soothing tone. “Sam’s coming back in, you’re gonna be fine. I’m right here.”

Sam came barreling into the house and went directly to the couch where Jody was hovering over Dean. His eyes were closed and he was pale, but a seizure hadn’t begun.

“Did anything happen?” Sam asked.

“No, nothing happened he just said he was gonna seize. I rolled him on his side, I thought--” Jody tried calmly explaining but was cut off by Sam’s reassurance.

“That’s fine. That’s normal. You did everything right. Thanks.” Jody nodded and made space for Sam.

“Is there something I should get? Anything I can do?”

For the moment, Dean was still conscious and Sam ignored Jody’s question, electing to ask Dean directly.

“You need anything?”

Dean’s speech was particularly bad but Sam still managed to make out most of it. Before words came, however, there was a pained sound. Sam’s heart leapt.

“Uhgah--l’gss ‘r’l b’dd. H’’pp ‘b’d ‘n’s’d.” _Leg’s really bad...Hip? Side..?_

“You wanna be on your back? Hip bad?”

Dean responded with a positive sounding groan of affirmation and Sam made the executive decision that it was best to move him to the floor.

“Jody, we’re gonna put him on the floor. Grab his feet. Careful of his right leg.”

The two moved in sync and got Dean to the floor with still a few moments to spare. Jody felt like she was definitely invading their privacy but it wasn’t in her nature to run away--not if there was anything she could do. As if he was reading her mind, Sam made a request.

“Jody, can you get a small pillow or towel or something?”

The Sheriff responded wordlessly by disappearing into the hall. Before she returned, Dean’s tonic phase began and his body stiffened. Jody came back to a slightly blue-faced Dean and couldn’t help but react.

“Oh my god--”

“It’s ok. When his diaphragm seizes he can’t move air but it’ll relax again. Just wait.”

So they waited.

And waited.

And Dean began jerking.

And his face remained blue.

“Sam?” Jody’s voice cracked in panic.

Sam bent over Dean, helpless. But by some miracle, the seizure ended and color returned to Dean’s face.

Drained from the scare, Sam fell back onto the ground and hung his head. Jody looked on in bewilderment.

“He’ll be fine...he’ll be fine.” Sam muttered the phrase a few times.

He wasn’t talking to Jody anymore.

He was talking to himself.

Waiting for Dean to wake up--to make a joke--to whine or complain or cry or scream or anything. Sam spoke again,

“He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.”

( ) ( ) ( )

**A/N: sorry to end on a cliffhanger but I promise that this coronavirus quarantine will allow me to get the next chapter posted soon. Hope everyone is staying safe.**


	5. Stubborn Sensibilities

**A/N: My profuse and sincerest apologies for this unanticipated hiatus. Special thanks to** **Lennysgirl1 for the encouragement and support for this story (and for motivating me to get this chapter posted!!)**

**This picks up a few moments after the last scene.**

Jody sat tense on her couch. The very same couch that Dean had been on just an hour earlier. Now, the weakened hunter was laid up in Claire’s bedroom. Jody knew he was conscious because she heard the mumblings of conversation between him and Sam. She didn’t intend on eavesdropping but it was hard to ignore the tense conversation. Admittedly, it was hard to make conclusions because she only heard Sam’s side of things--Dean’s speech was completely unintelligible to her. The only real thing that Jody could make out was the sound of Dean’s pained moans. She didn’t have to wonder if they were attempts at speech or otherwise--she knew they were reactionary groans because her heart fluttered every time he made a noise; her heart was telling her what her brain didn’t want to process. A particularly distressing noise emanated from the bedroom, and Sam’s repetitious apologies echoed in the house. Unable to sit idle any longer, Jody headed to the kitchen to continue making food. If she couldn’t help Dean, she could at least feed him. And if Dean didn’t want to eat (it was hard for her to consider that he _couldn’t_ ), then she could feed Sam.

Sam.

Jody couldn’t begin to understand how hard this was on him. She saw it in his eyes and in his body language--he was tired and restless and above all, he was just sad. But despite any circumstances, they both needed food. People always needed food. And if there was nothing Jody could do to help, she could at least cook them enough meals to last a week. So that’s what she resigned to doing. Emptying an entire bag of potatoes into a colander, she rinsed them and began boiling water. Mid-boil, an agonizing cry pierced through the muted noise of the house. Jody’s instincts told her to run towards the vulnerable sound but she stopped herself before reaching the bedroom. _They’ll get me if they need me._ She thought to herself. _Dean doesn’t want you there. Don’t embarrass him._ Even though her brain pushed for logic, her heart told her that Dean and Sam needed a mother right now. But she wasn’t theirs. She never could be. And she didn’t _want_ to force herself into that role. So she buried her instincts, walked back to the kitchen, and began peeling potatoes as tears filled her eyes.

After the brief spell of weakness, Jody recovered and built back up her poker face. Hearing a shift in the floorboards, she turned to catch a glimpse of Sam emerging from the bedroom.

“Jody?”

She abandoned her cooking at once and met him in the living room.

“How’s he doing?” She asked.

“Sorry to scare you like that. He’s uhhh…” Sam couldn’t find the right words. He didn’t want to lie to Jody, but he wanted to lie to himself. “He’s not great, Jody.”

Sam’s eyes were downcast at the admittance but he raised them for the second part of this statement. “But he’s okay for the time being. Sorry that this all spiraled so fast. He had been doing really well…”

“Sam. I’m here for you, the _both_ of you. Always.”

“That means more than you know. Thank you.”

“So...anything I can do?”

“First of all, you really don’t have to be cooking all this f--”

“Sam.” The mom-voice emerged from her organically and Sam smiled internally. “The least I can do is cook dinner, ok? Even if it’s just for you. Someone needs to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam said.

Jody, as much as she wanted to monologue about how much she loved him, and about how he needed to let someone help, she could see that it wasn’t the time. Besides, Sam was already moving on.

“Do you have any ice packs? Really anything cold would be good.”

“Becoming a hunter has meant that my first aid supplies are fully and expertly stocked if I do say so myself.” Jody tried to inject levity into the moment but it fell flat. Sam nodded and raised his brows--as much positivity as he could muster. Opening the freezer, Jody removed several large ice packs of different shapes, sizes, and materials. Handing them to Sam, along with a few clean dish towels, she spoke.

“Do I wanna know?” Jody asked, referencing the ice he was accumulating.

“He’s still pretty out of it... his hip and his knee have been bad. Think it was probably all the time in the car. I tried to stop a lot but I guess it was still--”

“Hey. None of that. You’re doing the best you can. No one else would be doing any better.”

“Jody.” Sam’s tone shifted to something even more serious. “I think I need to take Dean home. The change of routine...I thought it would be good for us but it’s taking too much of a toll on his body.”

Jody couldn’t help smiling at the Winchester’s manners. Leave it to Sam to apologize for something he had no business apologizing for.

“Sam, please tell me you’re not worrying about me in all of this.”

“Technically we did show up on your doorstep, practically kicked you out of your own house, and are now considering running away.”

“And that’s different from the way you’ve always made friends _how,_ exactly?” Jody tacked a grin onto the end of her point and Sam rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Seeing you both, for any amount of time, is always worth it. Do whatever you need to do.”

“Feels like even that’s getting harder and harder these days.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped in a rare moment of defeat but before Jody could properly console him there was a clanging from the bedroom. Shouting his brother’s name, Sam dashed for the bedroom with Jody trailing behind. Dean was standing in the threshold of the room, a pained smile forcing its way onto his face. Before Sam could speak, Dean asserted his disposition.

“ M’ g’ud.” _I’m good_

“Dean please sit back down.”

“J’dy d’ I l’k o’ky?” _Jody, do I look okay?_

Dean attempted to rope the Sheriff into the domestic dispute, but she wasn’t picking sides that easily.

“Well you didn’t look good an hour ago. Or twenty minutes ago…” Jody confessed

“Dean, would you just sit down? Please? You’re giving me whiplash.”

Hearing the sincerity in Sam’s voice, Dean stumbled back to the bed. Jody looked on like an audience member--feeling awkward at spectating. Dean looked like he wanted to cry--not that Jody knew exactly what that looked like, but she could guess. He was clearly in pain, and Sam could obviously see that too. More obvious, however, was Dean’s clear desire to keep up appearances. Jody’s mere presence was forcing Dean into a false positivity and she couldn’t have felt more guilty. Meanwhile, Sam was torn between too many different worlds and alliances. He wanted to take care of Dean the way he would in his own space and under privacy. Of course, Jody’s presence was throwing a wrench in that. At the same time, she was lifting their spirits. Additionally, Sam wanted to respect Dean’s desire to maintain normalcy, to stay strong. But Sam couldn’t take care of him that way, and he wanted Dean to be more at ease; it was Jody, after all. Trying to find some kind of compromise, Sam acknowledged Jody’s presence in a way that he hoped would relax Dean.

“Are the girls this difficult?”

“Seems like Dean’s prepping you well for a life as a parent of a teenager.”

“I’vve ‘u’rned ‘t.” _I’ve earned it._

Dean said the comment jokingly but Sam knew how earnest the statement was. For how many years had Dean taken care of Sam? Dean had never really been a kid, never a teenager, and now, he was more mature than ever. But Dean couldn’t handle being recognized for anything...he was so much more comfortable being the butt of the joke. Dean didn’t like to take a compliment and he _especially_ didn't want to be praised in front of Jody. Therefore, it was easiest and best for Sam to lovingly chastise Dean. And, if he was being honest, it was a little therapeutic...I mean, Dean _could_ be a pain in the ass. Even if Sam never meant any real harm, it was fun to allow himself an outlet for the tension. Besides, Dean wanted nothing more than to resume a casual tone after all that had happened.

“If you promise to do what I say then I’ll let us stay for dinner.”

“F n’nyone ‘s g’ving ‘rders, ‘s me. B’g br’er pr’iv’l’ge. S’des...who s’ys w’ w’ldn’t stay for d’nner? L’kkin f’rward to J’dy’s f’ood all d’ay.” _If anyone’s giving orders, it’s me. Big brother privilege. Besides, why wouldn’t we stay for dinner? Looking forward to Jody’s food all day._

Dean’s tone was just a tad adversarial but before things could further escalate, the ringing of Jody’s phone broke the tension.

“I’ll just...go get that.” Jody’s face scrunched into an intentional cringe and she left the brothers to their inevitable argument.

At her departure, Dean shot a disgruntled look to Sam.

“Dean, would you stop treating me like I’m the big-bad? I think it’s better if we don’t rush into anything.”

“W’ha c’ld we p’ssb’ly b’ r’shin in’to? L’st t’me I c’ecked we ‘er ju’st v’sting a f’riend.” _What could we possibly be rushing into? Last time I checked we were just visiting a friend._

“You just really freaked me out, ok? You stopped breathing, Dean. And I had to just sit there--”

Sam didn’t finish the thought but he pushed his hair away from his face. For the first time, Sam was considering the fact that maybe _he_ was the one who didn’t want to be here. This change of routine had him feeling like he was spiraling out of control and Dean’s usually normal see-saw of moods and health was seeming, in this moment, insurmountable.

“‘M g’ood n’ow. C’rss m’ f’ngers a’nd p’nky p’rom’se an’ e’vry’ing.” _I’m good now. Cross my fingers and pinky promise and everything._

Sam had no energy to continue the disagreement and gave into Dean’s assurances. Jody had yet to re-appear but if it was because she was still on the phone, or because she was giving them privacy, Sam didn’t know. The brothers maintained a silence for a bit, both recovering in their own way. It became clear that Jody was still, in fact, on the phone because both men heard broken pieces of the conversation. Perking up at the word ‘missing,’ it was clear that the two hunters were incapable of ignoring a mystery; they were hardwired to move towards danger.

“G’tta ‘b ‘nther o’ld g’y.” _Gotta be another old guy._

“Jody can take care of it.” Sam attempted to persuade his brother with little success.

“M n’t g’nna d’ a’n’ing c’razy. L’ts ‘ust s’tick ‘round ‘ittle ‘onger.” _I’m not gonna do anything crazy. Let’s just stick around a little longer_

“Dean--”

The memory of Dean’s blue, oxygen deprived face flashed before Sam and he couldn’t bring himself to so easily agree to Dean’s pleading about hunting and staying at Jody’s. It was too much for Sam, not being at the bunker, not having their learned routines… Sam didn’t know how to take care of Dean here, and Dean didn’t seem as capable of taking care of _himself_ here either. But the truth was, Sam was just scared. He was simply terrified. Terrified of things spiraling out of control--of Cas’ warning coming to pass. But none of that was visible at the moment which made denying his brother that much harder. In reality, the image Sam saw was Dean, tired and desperate, staring up at his little brother with pleading eyes as if he were a child (the very child he never got to be) asking him not to take away his life. Dean was looking at Sam like he was John--silent green eyes staring at the looming authority, pleading not to move and not to start over. It made Sam sick. So when Dean opened his mouth to speak with shockingly clear articulation, Sam couldn’t refuse his brother any longer.

“S’am. P’lea’se don’t ma’ke me beg.”

“Okay. We’ll stay. But you have to let me look out for you. I don’t wanna beg either.”

“D’eal.”

Saving them from an awkward post-argument silence, Jody lingered in the hallway and knocked gently on the open door. Sam gave a small smile and beckoned her inside.

“T’s y’our h’ouse. D’nt h’fta ‘ock.” _It’s your house. Don’t have to knock…_

Dean also gave a small smile, which Jody returned.

“That was Sheriff Morano calling...they’ve had several strange disappearances from some nursing homes and elderly care facilities and he’s wondering if we can spare anyone to lend a hand...you boys convinced it’s this ‘Adlet’ thing?”

“‘M s’re. D’ad s’aid P’stor J’m h’nted ‘ne b’ack in…” _M’ sure. Dad said Pastor Jim hunted one back in…_

Dean paused for a moment, contemplating how to detangle the tiring jumble of sounds comprising ‘nineteen-ninety five’ The latter half was confusing enough by itself. He ended up trailing off and leaving his statement unfinished. Sam and Jody would have to take his word for it.

“Alright, but even so this was a long time ago. Do you remember anything important?” Sam questioned.

“L’ke h’w t’ k’ll ‘t?” _Like how to kill it?_

“I’ll admit it’s the most pressing question.” Jody’s casual, no-nonsense tone was oddly comforting.

“Th h’w t’ k’ill it p’rt is a ‘ittle f’ggy. I m’ght ‘ve been...i’ndisp’sed at the t’me.” _The how- to-kill-it part is a little foggy. I might have been...indisposed at the time._

“That’s really helpful, thanks so much for that.” The younger brother pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to recharge his patience.

“Well if we’re sure it’s something monster related then I’m gonna have to head over and convince their department to let me take over. Probably be easier if I had a Fed on my side...you bring any gear?”

“A’lw’ays.”

Sam made a nervous eye shift to Dean but before either could discuss Dean’s role in the case, he made an executive decision for everyone.

“Y’ou an’ S’m h’ead o’ver an’ I’ll l’ook into th’ l’re. See ‘f I can’t f’igure ou’t how t’ k’ll it.” _You and Sam head over and I’ll look into the lore. See if I can’t figure out how to kill it._

“If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me…” Jody was more than pleased with the plan but still looked to Sam for confirmation.

“Yeah, I mean...seems fine. You’re good?” He nodded to his brother.

“M’fine. We g’ot H’eav’ns H’otline on-call a’nyway.” _I’m fine. We got Heaven’s Hotline on-call anyway._

Burying any worries or trepidations, Sam agreed to the plan and headed out with Jody.

( ) ( ) ( )

Two hours was as long as Sam was really willing to leave Dean; in a rare stroke of good luck, the other department had gratefully and easily handed over all evidence and testimony to Jody and a very convincing Fed, “Agent McClane.” All in all the trip was painless, albeit not very helpful. Five men between the ages of 75 and 95 had all wondered off, somehow undetected, from care facilities. No one had any leads or notions which was, in fact, a blessing; Sam wouldn’t have been able to stand leaving Dean while he interviewed witnesses. On their way back to Jody’s, Sam called Dean. The phone rang an uncomfortable number of times before he finally heard his brother’s voice.

“Dean, you good?”

“M’f’ne. C’ldn’t f’nd my ph’ne.” _I’m fine. Couldn’t find my phone._

“It was in your jacket on the arm of the couch.”

“Y’s, S’m I ‘kn’w ‘at n’ow.” _Yes, Sam. I know that now._

Dean’s sarcasm wasn’t lost through the phone and Sam sighed at his brother’s attitude, though the joke made his heart feel a little less heavy.

“Anything useful in the lore?”

“S’ms to t’ke ‘em to s’me s’rt of c’ave. Ke’eps ‘em ‘live ‘til the n’xt full m’oon. P’eople are k’nda like b-bait. B’ut I d’nt k’nw w’hat f’or.” _Seems to take them to some sort of cave. Keeps them alive until the next full moon. People are kind of like bait. But I don’t know what for.”_

“Any updates on how to kill them?” Jody spoke only to Sam but he relayed the message to Dean over the phone.

“N’thin y’et. H-how d’id your v’is’t go?” _Nothing yet. How did your visit go?_

“They were more than happy to let Jody take over.”

“T’hey k-knew w’at was g’ood for ‘em.” _They knew it was good for them._

Jody heard through the phone and gave a small chuckle, happy to know that in all the real ways, Dean was still Dean.

“Alright well we’re thirty minutes out, we’ll see you soon.” Sam wasn’t going to wait for Dean to confirm, but before he hung up he could hear that Dean was trying to get his attention. Adrenaline flooding through him, Sam was now worried. If something had really been wrong he would have called Cas, right? Or wouldn’t have waited til the end of the conversation to bring it up? But it was still Dean and he knew that when it came to self-care, his brother was anything but predictable.

“S’m?”

“You ok? What’s wrong?”

“M’fine. W-wh’res D-dizz’am?” _I’m fine. Where’s the Diazepam?_

“Diazepam? Is it your arm? Are you cramping?”

“ s’ my l’eg. C’nt sit d’wn w’iout it s’eizin up.” _It’s my leg. I can’t sit down without it seizing up._

At the word seize, Sam was involuntarily startled but remembered that in context, Dean only meant it as a synonym for cramping. More concerning than his leg acting up, however, was that Dean had forgotten where his meds were. A simple act of forgetfulness, sure. And under usual circumstances Sam wouldn’t have questioned it. But their lives were far from usual and these circumstances were far even from _their_ norm. In truth, the only thought rattling in Sam’s mind was that Cas’ prediction was coming to fruition. Was forgetfulness the first sign of mental deterioration? Was this the beginning of Dean’s descent? All that Sam could do was pray that it was not.

“The Diazepam’s in the grey duffle--your black Dopp kit. And remember it’s the taller bottle.” Sam worked very hard to keep his voice even and calm.

“C’lm d’wn, S’m. I g’ot it.” _Calm down, Sam. I got it._

“We’ll be back soon.” Sam trepedaciously closed the phone and took a moment of silence to try and lessen his anxiety. Jody was unable to prevent her instincts from taking over.

“Sam?”

In response, the Winchester looked over at her with wide, innocent eyes; Jody couldn’t help but grin at the puppy-like pout he had unconsciously formed.

“I know things have been...hard. Harder than usual, even by your standards. But is there something...more? Something you’re keeping? And hey--if you don’t wanna share that’s none of my business, I’ll butt out. But as a friend...if you need to talk...if you need to talk about yourself, about _Dean.”_

Jody was painfully aware of the fact that the Winchester’s social network was... _limited..._ to say the least. Their closest confidant? An angel, no less. They’d lived their lives feeling and believing and trusting that having each other was enough. And she knew it was. But enough didn’t always feel sufficient.

“I feel like I'm drowning.”

Sam spoke quietly and Jody let the silence hang--giving him a moment to think and process; decide if he wanted to continue. Sam let his eyes wander and scrunch, he swallowed dryly and shook his head--all distinct signs that he was conversing with himself, privately. Eventually though, always the one needing to talk, Sam allowed himself to confide in Jody.

“I’ve been possessed before...and Dean too… Being trapped like that is...it’s like sleepwalking, suffocating...passing out...drowning...You’re stuck in this twilight zone of knowing something’s wrong but not being able to grab onto anything--to pull yourself out. And I feel like that now. And Dean does too. But this time...this time it’s not gonna--”

Sam stopped abruptly and Jody finished gently for him.

“End.”

Sam nodded, defeated. Jody was about to respond but Sam took an intake of breath so she paused to see if he would continue. Despite his hesitancy, Sam spoke again.

“Cas uhhh--Cas looked at Dean. At the beginning I mean, after--after...M-michael left. He tried to heal him and we tried to--I mean we tried everything. Things were worse then, a lot worse than they are now. We’ve improved, all of us, we have. I can’t convey to you how proud I am at how much Dean’s gotten better; how proud I am of both of us. But part of me knows that Michael’s not done. Whatever it was exactly that he did to Dean he did for a reason. And Cas...Cas doesn’t know either, but he’s worried. He’s worried that Dean...that his mind isn’t _adjusting_ the same way his body is. That maybe one of these days it’s all just gonna. . . catch up to him.”

Sam desperately hoped that Jody understood his meaning without having to make him clarify. Sam couldn’t really bring himself to think it, let alone speak it. Jody needed no explanation though--she was attuned to the distinct Winchester method of communication.

“Sam, I can’t begin to imagine putting myself in your shoes. I really can’t. I know hope isn’t an easy thing to have--not when you have to live in the world we do and see the things we see. You can be afraid and angry and sad all you want. I know you’ve earned the right to that. But no matter what you meet in the future, no matter what barricades you encounter...Dean will always be your lighthouse, and you’ll be his. Sam, as far as I’m concerned, that’s all you’ll ever need.”

“Thanks, Jody. I mean it.”

They ended the conversation with a nod and continued speedily making their way back to Jody’s.

( ) ( ) ( )

“J’dy ‘hat was t’he b’st m’eal I’ve h’ad ‘n m’nths.” _Jody, that was the best meal I’ve had in months._

“Well fair’s fair because you are by far the best company I’ve had in months. The girls are driving me up a wall and if I have to grade one more SAT practice test I think I’m going to petition that math be outlawed.”

“Y’ou w’nt h’ve any ‘ck ge’tting t’his one t’ s’gn, t’hat sfor s-re.” _You wont have any luck getting this one to sign, that’s for sure._

“I didn’t know you were a Mathlete, Sam.” Jody inquired teasingly and Sam turned just a twinge red.

“I am not a Mathlete. Just because I memorized my multiplication tables, _unlike some people_ , does not mean I’m a math-geek.”

“Look at him getting all defensive…” Jody appealed to Dean’s sense of mockery as she gently poked fun at Sam. It was her way of letting the older man know that she was his confidant too--she was a safe person to talk to.

“Despite the fact that the hostess is making fun of me...I am more than happy to help her with the dishes.” Sam stood from the table with a grin and began clearing his place at the table. Jody stood as well, doing the same.

“And you will hear no argument from me. Sorry, but I’ve been in mom-mode and I’ve been trained to jump at any and all offers of help.”

As Sam and Jody cleared the table there was a split second where Dean felt he’d been forgotten; swept under the rug. What bothered him more than the brief moment of neglect, however, was the fact that part of him didn’t mind. It was true he didn’t _want_ to clean up, and he was partially relieved not to be the subject of conversation. Dean knew that this moment was far from ideal, though. Sam was burned with even more than usual, and Dean was left feeling useless. But nonetheless, it was an improvement from the way things had been. Maybe that was enough. The water running and the clanging in the kitchen were calming sounds at this moment--the sounds of normalcy he wasn’t accustomed to anymore. A full belly, Sam’s laughter, and a friend’s company...it was shaping up to be the best day Dean had seen in a long while. Jody came back into the dining room then, clearing a bowl of empty mashed potatoes.

“Th’nks ‘gain J’dy. T’dys b’n ‘m’zing.” _Thanks again, Jody. Today’s been amazing._

“Except for the hunt with no leads, I agree.” She grinned and picked up his plate, having waited for him to have done it himself if he’d wanted.

“Y’ th’re was’n m’ch I c’ld d’ig ‘p. M’be S’m’ll h’v b’ttr l’k.”

Dean knew the sentence had come out much more garbled than he’d intended and it surprised even him a little bit. It didn’t feel particularly cumbersome to get through, and he wasn’t feeling particularly tired. Jody met his gaze, silently telling him what he already knew: she didn’t understand. Concentrating on making the right sounds, Dean tried for a shorter, simpler phrase.

“M g’ood.”

Jody smiled, still awkward but relieved that the moment had passed. She made her way back to the kitchen where Sam must have still been washing dishes. Dean wanted to get up, walk around...in truth, he actually wanted to walk outside. The medication had helped his cramping, but his bad leg was still stiff and sore. His knee was tight and standing would require balance he knew he wouldn’t have. He didn’t want to call Sam, to have to ask for help, but he didn’t want to sit at the table like a doll at a child’s tea party. Luckily, he was spared when Sam came back into the dining room, but Jody remained in the kitchen.

“Hey--you ok? Are you feeling sick after eating?” Sam was casual but concerned by his brother’s stillness.

“L’gs s’ s’f. C’nt g’ p’.”

Again, Dean’s words were unintelligible and he couldn’t figure out why everything was coming out sounding so wrong. Frustration and impatience evident on his face, Sam knew that his brother realized the sentence’s lack of coherence.

“You’re not feeling dizzy? Or confused?” Sam made sure it was only the speech that was being impeded. In response, Dean shook his head and a small relief flooded Sam.

“G’tu’p.”

Only a slight improvement. But enough that Sam’s practiced ears could figure it out.

Sam moved to the chair, and Dean raised the elbow of his good arm.

“C’r’f’l ff m’ ‘ee.”

Again, Sam paused. Acting out of frustration, Dean grunted in an irritated tone but it was quiet enough that Jody wasn’t alerted.

“It’s ok, Dean. Don’t get worked up about it.” Sam responded to the moment with as little care as was possible, but worry was difficult to manage.

“We’ll go slowly just in case. On three. One, Two, Three.”

Sam pulled Dean upwards from the chair as cautiously as he was able. Dean maintained solid footing and stayed upright with relative ease. Once he was stable on his feet, he gently patted Sam’s shoulder as both an apology, and a signal that he was free to step away. His knee, however, was uncomfortable with the change in position; he needed to walk around. Doing laps in Jody’s living room wasn’t the most ideal solution. As much as Dean needed this trip, he was also beginning to miss the bunker. He could tell that Sam, too, was struggling to adjust both on his own behalf, and Dean’s. They’d gotten used to their spaces and places and strategies and as much as change was needed to stay sane, change was the thing also driving them further from sanity. Dean’s brief existential moment was a gross overreaction, but he kept the notion on a back-burner. Attempting yet again to speak, Dean gestured to Sam.

“M ‘gn-- …” Dean made the beginning of his phrase but at its sound, he stopped and closed his eyes. A sudden wave of emotion drowned him, and he was shaken by his nearly unshakable need to cry. It had been only a few minutes of setback. Only a few moments in silence. Only a few moments without speech. In reality, it was nothing. He’d spent _weeks_ unable to communicate well in the beginning--before he and Sam had learned to adapt to Dean’s capabilities. After all this time, though, after all this work and effort and pain, being reduced to babble destroyed Dean. It made him a prisoner--again. Locked in his own head with the shadows and echoes of Michael. He was bound by two irreconcilable truths: he couldn’t talk to Sam, and he refused to be trapped in silence. Floating to the surface of his memory was his most recent meeting with Cas--how the angel had been hesitant to share what he’d seen in the hunter’s mind. In this brief but debilitating setback, Cas’ earlier reaction led Dean to believe the worst. In a desperate need to speak with the angel, Dean extended his thoughts to his angel in prayer.

_Cas, I hope you’re listening. Sam and I are at Jody’s. Everyone’s safe. Don’t come down here breaking down her door or anything. I need to talk to you. I can’t um… I need you to come because talking’s kinda being a bitch of an activity right about now. Please? Don’t come in the house, though. I’ll come out to you._

Sam still looked on with concern and sympathy. Dean knew what his brother was looking for--Dean to sign back some kind of affirmation, information...anything. In those beginning weeks, Sam demanded they learn a few signs for emergencies even if Dean was immensely reluctant to admit that sometimes he wouldn’t have a voice. Modifying a few gestures for the sake of only really having one good hand, Sam used what he had remembered from classes at Stanford. Recalling the movements neither had used in a while, Dean flatneed his palm and extended his thumb from his chest. _Fine._ Then, noting Sam’s shoulder slump in relief, Dean formed a ‘C’ shape and extended his elbow outwards. It was a version of the sign for ‘angel’ but instead of flapping wings, a letter stood in its place. _Cas._ Then, Dean used his head to gesture to the door and trusted that his genius brother could manage to put the information together. He was fine, and Cas was outside (hopefully). Easily putting two and two together, Sam nodded.

“I’ll tell Jody you stepped out for a minute.” And so Sam left his brother to talk with the angel.

Outside, Cas was standing awkwardly in the driveway, patiently waiting. At Dean’s arrival, he approached and offered an arm to assist him down the stairs.

“I heard you and Sam might have found a case?” The angel wasn’t sure what Dean was after, but he figured that beginning with small talk couldn’t hurt.

Dean nodded, and made a formal prayer so that Cas could hear his thoughts.

_Cas, I’m not sure if I have to pray for you to hear me so I’m just goin with that for now. Thanks for coming. I needed to get away for a minute._

“If you direct your thoughts towards me I can hear them--informal prayers will work fine. I’m pretty well tuned to your channel.” Cas nudged Dean lightly, attempting to lighten the mood.

_I can’t stand not being able to talk. That’s what ~he did. He kept me quiet and pathetic and trapped and I can’t do that again. Not like this._

“If it’s any consolation-- I can hear you perfectly. I realize that doesn’t do you and Sam any good, but to _me_...you sound like you.”

_Is it gonna be like this forever?_

“I don’t understand.”

Dean took a few lumbering steps away and leaned against the side of the Impala, his back to Cas.

_You looked in my head. And something scared you. I didn’t ask because I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know. But now? I mean-- -- It’s been hell. Real hell. Just like the pit and just like with Michael. It looks a little different but it feels the same. And I don’t see an end this time. I know that Sam and I are better than we were, but I still don’t feel alive. I know I’m not supposed to feel that way, but I can’t help it._

_And I can’t say that to him._

_I’m eating him alive, Cas. It’s too much on his shoulders. And the only thing I’ve ever really felt good about...the only thing in my whole life I’ve ever really been proud of was the way he turned out. That I did right by Sam. I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I need to know what this is all worth, Cas. I’m not you--I don’t have the whole picture. I don’t mean to put you in this position, I really don’t, but because I trust you...I need you to tell me what you saw inside my head. Where am I headed?_

The angel appeared in front of Dean, blue eyes wide and mourning.

“Dean. When I was commanded to raise you from Hell, your soul was shredded. Unrecognizable and seemingly unsalvageable. Do you want to know what your soul looks like now?” Cas paused momentarily but it was clear the question was meant to be unanswered. “It’s scarred, yes. And patchy. It’s a little wrinkled; in places it’s frayed; but it is far from torn. Your mind works the same way. Michael left craters...scales unbalanced. Whether or not you know it, Dean Winchester, every moment you’re fighting to restore what he shattered. Sometimes your mind wavers. It becomes tired. It tries to heal itself by lowering the standard, instead of matching the old one. That’s why you have bad days. But it’s also why you also have good ones.”

_You’re saying….you’re saying that I could get worse? That my mind’s just gonna give up one day?_

“I’m saying you have to keep fighting. I’m telling you this battle isn’t lost or won by fate.”

_I can’t control this, Cas! You think that I want to be like this? That I’m not trying hard enough? I’m in pain every day. And every day I have to have my little brother take care of me so I don’t accidentally kill myself falling down. Or overdosing. Or suffocating like I almost did a few hours ago. Don’t you dare stand there and tell me this is all on me. I wouldn’t do this to myself if I had any choice, and I sure as hell wouldn't do it to Sam._

Dean’s bad arm vibrated against his chest due to the sudden adrenaline rush. Castiel stood motionless--a marble pillar.

“If you truly think that’s what I mean, then it’s already over. The Dean I know is already gone.”

The burst of anger from the hunter came unexpectedly and uncontrollably--a biological response to hurt that he’d never been able to shake. Looking at the forlorn and betrayed man across from him, however, Dean’s harshness was softened. Opening his mouth, a sentence formed.

“C’ a’ s. ‘M s’rry.”

To be sure the message was received, he prayed for good measure.

_Cas...I’m sorry_

Taking a single step towards Dean, the angel cocked his head and took a moment to think.

“I’ve never regretted saving you, Dean. You should believe the same about yourself.”

_Thank you. For coming. For everything._

“I’m always listening.”

_You might try not sounding like Big Brother but yes, thank you for the sentiment_

“I don’t have any brothers notably larger in stature or age than I am.”

_It’s from 1984, Cas. ‘Big Brother is watching’ ?_

“I wasn’t on Earth in 1984. At least not for any substantial amount of time.”

_Forget it. Are you headed back upstairs?_

“For the time being, yes. It seems to be where I’m most needed.”

_Okay well you go play referee up there and Sam and I’ll hang in as best we can. Does--you told him. About me, didn’t you? That you saw I could get worse. He’s been on edge. I mean, more than he usually is._

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I was afraid that--I was afraid if you knew you had some degree of control that it would spiral...you’d throw it further out of balance. But you had a right to know from the beginning. I’m sorry.”

_You were probably right. I was in a bad spot. You couldn’t risk me oh I don’t know, say getting angry and freaking out...trashing everything in my head even worse than it is now?_

“Your words, not mine.”

And Dean smiled. A small grin, really. Not much more than a slight curve of his lips. But a smile nonetheless.

_Oh! Cas. Is there um…_

Cas anticipated his question just as Sam would have and happily extended his hand towards Dean’s head.

“Your speech is messy because you’re overstimulated. Please try and rest, Dean.”

Cas did the ‘Professor X,’ as Dean sometimes called it, and used his grace to improve whatever he could. It was hardly sufficient, but it was all they had.

“T’nks.” Dean responded. It wasn’t as clear as he would have liked, but he was far from complaint.

With that, the angel transcended time and space, disappearing from Dean’s gaze. From inside the house, he heard a loud smash, followed by Jody rattling off a string of curses and Sam’s muted offers to help with something.

Dean wasn’t rushing back inside anytime soon.

( ) ( ) ( )

Having waited for the mild chaos inside to have settled, Dean was starting to get cold. He had been outside for nearly half an hour and had left his jacket inside. Not surprisingly, Dean hadn’t thought everything through. Staring at him was yet another object he now considered an obstacle. Jody’s front stoop. Getting _down_ the few porch steps to come outside had been one thing. Getting _up_ them to go back in was another. What a long day it had already been. What a long. fucking. day. His seizure had been awful; his leg screwed up badly enough to be jacked for the rest of the week. His speech was shot to hell, and of course, looming over his head was Cas’ overwhelming message. All this. And yet--it had been a great day, too. Seeing Jody lifted Dean’s spirits in ways he couldn’t have possibly predicted; he’d eaten dinner at a real _table_ , with _company..._ In short, there was no way he was gonna spoil the end of the night by having to call Sam and ask him to help him up the stairs. Buckling down and committing with Cas’ words of motivation still ringing in his ears, Dean approached the steps. The reflection of himself from the diner flashed briefly in his mind, eliciting a quiet string of curses and a slew of defensive remarks. Hell would freeze over before Dean Winchester pitied himself. Leaning his weight onto the side of his good arm, he balanced on the side of the house--fingers barely touching. Lifting his bad leg, his knee seized up in complaint but it only strengthened his resolve. Far from graceful, he managed to make it to the door and couldn't help the grin of smug satisfaction he now wore. _That’ll show you,_ he thought. And while he realized that there was, in fact, no one to prove wrong, it still felt good. Back inside, he heard the television and made his way inside to see Sam and Jody on the couch watching _Little House._

“R’ y’ou s’rsly m’king J’dy w’ch L’ttle H’se on th’ P’ra’rie?” _Are you seriously making Jody watch Little House on the Prairie?_

Sam looked over in relative shock at his brother’s sudden arrival but quickly recovered and moved into the tone of banter. Sam was clearly pleased to see that Dean was back to being comprehensible but he let nothing show--truly a paragon of love and support.

“You can’t help falling for the charm of Charles Ingalls...if I met a man like that we’d be at city hall that afternoon.” Jody was being nothing but playful and seemed to mimic the respectful distance that Sam had extended towards Dean. She was there to help, but not to intervene.

“S’m wou’d m’rry M’ary. Ha’ m’rry M’ry.” _Sam would marry Mary. Ha. Marry Mary._

“And you, jerkface? Nellie?” Sam retorted.

“Nel’lie’s a b’itssch. L’ra, ‘f c’orse. W’hts h’r hus’band n’me? M’any? _Nellie’s a bitch. Laura of course. What’s her husband’s name? Manny?_

“Man _ly.”_ Jody snapped and pointed to Dean in a silly moment of pride.

“S’ee? Al’ready h’ve s’omet’hin in c’mmon” _See? Already have something in common._

Sam yawned before he had another comeback and Dean looked at him disapprovingly.

“G’ b’ed, S’m. Get s’me s’leep.” _Go to bed, Sam. Get some sleep._

Standing, Sam made mutters of agreement and wrapped up talking to Jody about the case. She and Sam would do a few interviews if they could find anyone helpful and Sam would make a few calls to some hunters--see if they had any info on an Adlet. Cognizant that they were running out of time, Sam knew that if the three of them couldn't do something fast, then it would be too late. Too tired to think, though, Sam headed to bed. Passing Dean, he checked in.

“How was Cas?” Sam’s voice had an undertone of worry but Dean told him what he’d really wanted to know.

“He t’ld me. T’hat I c’oud g’t w’rse. B’t M’ t’ryin.” _He told me. That I could get worse. But I’m trying…_

“I know you are.” Sam smiled and clapped Dean on the shoulder--it was rare that they touch these days without the pretense of caregiving.

“You need anything you just--” Sam began but Dean’s murder eyes silenced him.

“S’m…”

“Going to bed. I’m shutting up and going to bed.”

Sam departed and Dean poked his head back in on Jody, still watching TV. He moved to sit but his knee clenched up in all the wrong ways, making his leg buckle slightly. Perking up, Jody’s hands were at the ready but waiting for permission.

“M’ g’ood. J’st g’ttin o’ ld.” _I’m good. Just getting old._ Dean forced a smile and Jody wordlessly held out a hand which Dean silently and gratefully took. Easing onto the couch, Jody reached for the remote, looking to change the channel.

“Y’ou c’n k’eep ‘t on…” _You can keep it on…_

Dean pathetically extended the comment and Jody grinned as the episode played on.

“Ne’llie r’eally ‘s a b’itssch t’ho.” _Nellie really is a bitch, though._

And so they sat, one broken hunter and his friend, watching _Little House on the Prairie_ and awaiting a tomorrow that would bring with it what it may.

**A/N: Again, I am deeply sorry about the wait for this. There is still more to come and I promise I’m starting the next chapter ASAP. The hunt will heat up and Dean will have to find ways of dealing...action is on the rise! Thank you so much to all my readers for your patience, support and words of encouragement. With the finale looming, I am that much more thankful for the spn family.**


	6. Instinct and Intuition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Searching for the Adlet is slow and unsuccessful--until it all unravels faster than either Winchester can handle.

**A/N: Please do not read too closely into any of the monster stuff because as I’m sure you’ve seen by now, I am so bad at constructing any kind of hunt/case/monster plot; if it doesn’t seem like it makes sense--you’re right-- it doesn’t. I simply live for the emotional baggage. Anyways, enjoy!**

Three useless interviews in, Sam was beyond frustrated with the lack of progress. He was becoming convinced that something else was the cause for these disappearances. The claw marks on the tree and the missing people...maybe it was just coincidence. Yeah--he knew that coincidences didn’t exist in their world. But honestly? Every rock they turned over was a dead end. Dean was adamant this was a hunt, and Sam believed that Dean believed it. But maybe his brother was only seeing what he wanted to. No one at the care facilities was really suspicious of anything--they agreed it was unfortunate, but nothing too strange. Jody had gone a little farther away and also turned up nothing and Dean was back at the house pouring over everything again. He’d wanted to come but his leg was still too unreliable. Leaving another dead end, Sam called Dean and Jody to give them the update. Before Sam could finish complaining about the deplorable lack of _anything,_ Dean excitedly interjected the group call.

“Th’ all ‘ent m’ssing f’rm d’frnt pl’ces, r’ight?” _They all went missing from different places, right?_

A general affirmation came from his audience.

“A’nd all t’ p’l-laces are f’ar ‘way f’rm e’c’oher.” _And all the places are far away from each other…”_

“Dean, my god, would you please cut to the chase!” Sam’s patience was dangerously thin. He was anxious to put the hunt beyond them and head back home.

“T’h c’ve ‘ss ch’ntd.”

“One more time?” Sam wasn’t hesitant to ask Dean to repeat himself--it was much harder to understand him without being able to look at his lips and Dean knew that.

“C’a ve. ‘Ch’nted.”

“The cave’s enchanted?”

“B’ngo.” _Bingo_

“Newbie hunter here--what exactly does that mean?” Jody chimed in briefly.

“It means that the Adlet’s cave is masked. It’s a real place but it exists in a kind of parallel universe. Two people can be there at the same time even if they start miles apart. Usually, though, it’s the getting out that’s hard, not the getting in.”

“One way ticket, then?” Jody added.

“U’sully.” _Usually_

“I’ll take a stab in the dark and assume the thing’s gotta be killed before the enchantment is lifted?”

“Exactly.” Sam responded to Jody’s comment and began trying to formulate a plan.

“Full moon’s coming--we’re already cutting it pretty close and we still have no word on how to kill it.”

“W’l f’gure. S’mthin ow.” _We’ll figure something out_

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten, Dean the optimist.” Sam’s remark came out a little darker than he’d intended but Jody covered for him.

“Let’s meet back up and troubleshoot.”

Jody’s cover, however, wasn’t enough to dissuade Dean from shooting back a defensive jab at Sam’s crack.

“Y’eh. Op’tsmsm pr’tty r’re f-or D-n. Y’ou k-now m’, S’m. A’ways g’vin ‘p.” _Yeah. Optimism’s pretty rare for Dean. You know me, Sam. Always giving up._

Dean couldn’t help but put himself in the third person--a way to view himself outside of his condition. A condition that’s improvement, as Cas had just told him, was dependent on his sheer will. Despite the fact that he knew Sam meant well, Dean couldn’t stop the retort. He hated himself for it--he knew Sam was holding on by a thread--but it was a compulsive defense he’d simply been conditioned to carry out. Shameful, Dean hung up the phone and paced around the living room. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. Why didn’t he let it go? Nothing Sam said had been wrong. He _was_ pessimistic. The comment struck a chord, though; this time, his wellbeing was dependent on optimism. An optimism Sam implied he didn’t have. Still, Dean couldn’t deny that he was changing...slowly but surely. He _was_ taking on a different kind of role...a role he usually expected Sam to fill. And just like that, Dean realized that this moment was a step further in the wrong direction--the direction Dean never wanted them to take. Sam was turning into him---turning into all the parts of Dean that Dean tried to make sure his brother never took after. While Dean was desperate to restore the balance within his mind--to tip the scales back to their resting position--Sam was subconsciously trying equally hard to restore the balance between the two of them. If Dean wasn’t behaving much like Dean, then Sam would fill the role.

“W’ha I w’ould’n g’ve f’ a’drnk.” _What I wouldn’t give for a drink_

Dean spoke to himself as he paced around the house and at the sight of the pictures on Jody’s fridge, a memory suddenly resurfaced. _Dad was on the phone with Pastor Jim--talking about the Adlet. Something about not being able to find someone in time..._ Dean thought he meant that there wasn't time to find victims before it was too late. More recollections came, though, and Dean tried to piece together the fractured memory of conversations that had only been relayed to him. _Dad was calling other hunters--he and Jim wouldn't be able to help--wouldn’t be able to kill it._ Dean wished there was someone still alive--someone they could call. But it seemed that the mystery of the Adlet lay with him alone. He would have to remember. _Dad had made a joke--if the lore was metaphorical, any hunter would surely be able to kill the thing._ Metaphorical? So the literal meaning was important, then. The meaning of _what,_ Dean still didn’t know.

“C’mon m’n. B’ s’ful f’r s’m’hing.” _C’mon, man. Be useful for something._

Dean was wracking his memory for any shred of overheard mumblings, any story that had been told to him in passing. Then, without warning or control, a barrage of images flooded him: memories of hell. And from somewhere in his subconscious, the faint sound of Dad’s voice rang in his ears. “ _Blood of the damned, huh?”_ With the one phrase, all the information came back to him. _Dean had been out for the weekend with John’s permission--Sam was at Bobby’s anyway. Returning from his eventful few nights, Dean met up with his dad in Oregon and he’d come back to John on the phone with Bobby. Dad explained that there wasn’t a hunter around who could kill the thing and the best they could do was keep tabs on the situation in the future. Dean hadn't been paying that much attention, he was exhausted and nervous Dad that would be upset he was getting back so late. Luckily, John was too busy finding the next job to care about Dean’s arrival, and soon got swept up into planning when he’d be by to pick up Sam._

So the blood of the damned was the way to kill this thing. And according to Dad, it wasn’t metaphorical. Only the blood of a soul that had been to hell and back. Between he and Sam, it wasn’t in short supply. Still regretting his attack on his kid brother, Dean opted to wait for Sam and Jody to get back before sharing the update.

( ) ( ) ( )

“So the blood of the damned? You think any weapon dipped in our blood?” Sam seemed to have forgiven Dean’s earlier outburst and was relieved that they’d made some much-needed progress on the case.

“H’ts w’at I w-would b’et ‘on.” _It’s what I would bet on._

“You boys realize how absurd this is, right? That in order to kill this thing you need the blood of someone who’s been to _hell_ and both of you fit the bill…” Jody’s eyebrows raised in shock but she shook her head humorously. “You two need a vacation.”

“Well...I guess Jody and I’ll head out and see if we can’t find the cave.” Sam stood to begin packing, but Dean protested.

“W’woh ‘M c’min. N’t g’nna l’ve y’ou t’wo t’ f’gure it ‘t ‘n y’our ‘wn.” _Woah. C’mon. I’m not gonna leave you two to figure it out on your own._

“There’s nothing left to figure out, Dean. You remembered how to kill it, it’ll be a piece of cake.”

“F’mous l’st w’rds.” _Famous last words._

“I thought we talked about this--”

“W’ t’lked ‘out it? L’ke ‘m a l’ttle k’id y’ou l’ct’red?” _We ‘talked about it’? Like I’m a little kid you lectured?_

“That’s not how I mean it, Dean. You know that. Stop fighting me all the time.” Sam’s voice rose in pitch and grew in strength. Dean met him at the same level and fired back.

“M’ not f’ghting you, S’m! I’ss w’nna f’eel’lke ‘m w’rth s’min.” _I’m not fighting you, Sam! I just wanna feel like I’m worth something._

Silence hung, and Jody didn’t know whether to stay put, or to try to step away to let them have a moment. She opted for remaining still until the conversation either cleared up, or developed into more of an argument. In truth, she’d been surprised as to how well they’d been getting along. With stakes this high, she would imagine fights like this to happen all the time. She was thoroughly impressed that this was the worst spat she’d seen them have.

“Dean--” Sam began a speech in a pacifying tone, but Dean wasn’t letting the moment continue.

“F’rget ‘t.” _Forget it._

Sam accepted his brother’s dismissal and went back to packing what little stuff they’d brought to Jody’s. The sheriff made an effort to appear busy but in a spare moment, pulled Sam aside into another room.

“I’m not trying to butt in. This is your burden and I’m not trying to tell you how to carry it. But do you think that...is there any way Dean could--” Jody had difficulty finding the words to finish her sentence but Sam was able to do it for her.

“Could hunt? Jody I…” Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I want him there. I want him there more than anything. For him to be able to run and fight and drive and yell at me… but I think about that day--that day that I just watched him drop to the floor. And the days that he couldn’t get out of bed, and the day that he realized he wasn’t gonna drive again...the times when he apologized to me, the times he smiled instead of screaming, the pain he keeps from me, the words he can’t say. I can’t run away from those memories. I spend every day trying to make sure those things don’t keep happening. And this hunt--Dean out there--I’m terrified of what might happen. What new memory I’ll spend years running from. But his face, Jody…he’s desperate. What am I supposed to do?”

Jody had nothing to say. Nothing that could make this better. She simply held out her arms and invited the much larger man into her embrace. The connection was short, but provided the love and support that was needed.

“Y’ou t’wo n’eed t’ h’rry ‘p w’ith th’ t’chy, f’ee-y th’rpy s’sson ‘m s’rre y’r h’vin ‘and g’et a-mmove ‘on.” _You two need to hurry up with the touchy feely therapy session I’m sure you’re having and get a move on._

Dean shouted from the other room and Sam pulled away from Jody, grinning.

“Get your crap, Dean. We’re leaving in five.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Jody drove in one direction, the boys in another. They were both searching for any signs of the creature, the cave, or the enchantment. They’d agreed though, at the slightest sign of anything, they would wait for the other to arrive. They should have known better than to believe that any of the three hunters would be able to exercise patience. Sam was parking the Impala and heading towards a loud sound in the woods before Dean was able to even reach his door handle.

“S’m w’ h’ll ‘re you d’ing?” _Sam, what the hell are you doing?_

“I’m just looking around, Dean. I can handle myself,you know.”

“Y’ th f’ct ‘at you s’ay th’at is the c’nc’rning p’rt. W’ld you ‘st w-wait for J’dy?” _Yeah the fact that you say that is the concerning part. Would you just wait for Jody?_

Rather than answer his brother, Sam climbed out of the car, and headed towards the woods with his silver knife in hand. Dean was beyond irritated but the sooner they found a clue to the location, the sooner they could call Jody and close the case. Dean had lost his eye-line on Sam which only meant that Sam was trying to do this on his own. Dean wouldn’t have that. Opening his door haphazardly, Dean called out to Sam.

“A’ny’hing?”

Silence.

“S’M?”

Silence.

“D’m’nit.” As Dean pushed his door open with his good shoulder, Sam hollered surprised and panicked.

“HERE, DEAN. IT”S HE--”

Sam’s sentence was cut short by a wolf-like wail. Before Dean could call out, to assure Sam that he was coming, he felt a wave of numbness flood him. He saw the pavement growing nearer before him as his body tensed and he fell from the car….Sam’s shouts still echoing in his ears.

( ) ( ) ( )

Dean came out of his seizure, for the first time in nearly six months, alone. Blackness was descending around him, but he wasn’t entirely sure if the sun was setting, or if his mind was still adjusting to consciousness. He blinked and looked for a face--Sam’s face--but he was certain he was alone. His gut told him something was wrong--something very bad. But his logical mind hadn’t recovered enough to tell him what that thing was. Instead, the only clear, resonating message processing, was pain. The back of his head stung, as did his left ear. He felt a pulsing heat there, but no sensation of hot liquid. His bad knee was throbbing so badly he was sure if he looked down, he would see the skin pulsating from the contracting muscle underneath. His entire leg was twisted with taught muscles, and his foot was turned at a bit of an odd angle. The shoulder of his hooked arm was hurting in a way he couldn’t immediately describe. Something between tingling and burning...of numbness and torness. Despite the physical pain, though, Dean was most concerned with the need to clear his mind of fog and remember what had caused his feelings of worry and panic. Looking around, he tried to piece together the events from before his seizure. Slowly, the memories came back to him; soon he was staring off to the forest, desperate to get to his brother.

Kicking into high-gear, Dean ignored the injuries that the violent fit had caused, and began forcing his uncooperative body to listen to his commands. He knew he had little hope of standing from his current position--he had no support, no way to balance--no chance. Instincts taking over, Dean found that years of muscle memory were truly paying off as his body began willing itself to find a way to stand. Rolling onto his side, Dean then flipped entirely to his belly, causing his shoulder to be badly pinched. Moving his good knee towards his chest, he was attempting to get into a position from which he could at least kneel. One leg under his chest, nearly his entire body weight was now resting on his throbbing shoulder--a shoulder already weakened from months of non-use. As he brought his second leg towards his chest, Dean felt his fragile shoulder buckle under the weight; it made a noise somewhere between a click and a pop.

“F-F’CK”Dean let out a pained and exasperated sound along with the expletive but still continued using his good arm to yank the injured leg upwards.

Everything hurt.

Unwilling to break his stride, though, Dean used his one good arm to push away from the asphalt. His arm gave out for a moment--the muscle resisting the pressure. Dean felt the echoes of Michael’s banging, the impression of Michael’s dominance. The memory of the archangel was encouraging him to give up. To fall. To submit. He whispered under his breath--assuringhimself that he was capable--he was strong--he could save Sam. No. He _would_ save Sam.

“C’mn. C’m’on. Mi--H’es g’ne. J’st you. All y’ou.” _C’mon. C’mon. Mic--He’s gone. Just you. All you._

Clunkily moving to a kneel, and then a fully upright position, Dean had no time to be prideful. Reaching for his jacket pocket, he pulled his phone out only to discover that it had been cracked, most likely in his fall from the car. He still had options. Cas, for one. Extending an urgent prayer, Dean waited. No angel arrived. Unable and unwilling to wait longer, Dean clumsily made his way to where he’d heard Sam’s cries. He moved impossibly slowly--knowing he’d be unable to stand again if he should fall. No signs of the creature or Sam were present, and as a result, Dean’s adrenaline was quickly rising.

“S’MMY?”

Once again, he was met with a sickening silence. Stepping a bit to his left, he saw a shimmer out of the corner of his eye. It was Sam’s silver knife. The object was at least 200 yards away and surrounded by brush. Dean knew he’d never get to it without stumbling, not when his leg was already vibrating. Even if he could, there was no telling how far Sam had been taken. As Dean saw it, he had one option.

He had to drive.

Despite the number of times he’d dreamt of driving Baby once again, he was terrified at the prospect. Still, it was certainly less terrifying than having lost Sam. Stumbling significantly, it took Dean five minutes to get back to the road--a trip that once may have taken him ninety seconds. Dean didn’t leave room for self-pity, though; pity wasn’t helping Sam. Walking to the driver’s side door, Dean felt like a ghost--one foot in an alternate reality, one foot in this one. Suppressing his consciousness, Dean buried his emotions as he’d practiced for so many years and focused on accomplishing the physical tasks. With the door open, he knew he couldn’t bear his weight on one leg in order to climb into the car. Instead, he turned his back to the door opening and simply fell backwards onto the bench seat. Baby received him faultlessly, offering him her sanctuary. Wrestling with his disobedient muscles, Dean labored to become situated in the driver's seat. A small miracle made his life easier: Sam had left the keys in the ignition. As Baby vibrated to life underneath him, Dean wished that he could enjoy the sensation without being drenched in worry for his brother. Putting all selfish feelings aside, Dean tried to simply carry out the mechanical actions of driving. His left leg was shot to hell, and lay useless in the footwell. His shoulder burned and grinded and creaked with every shift of his torso. His head ached. His heart pounded. But none of it mattered; his body was nothing but a vessel (god, he hated that word, but it was true) for getting Sam back. Sam. The brother who deserved the world--no, more than the world had to offer. The man that Dean wanted to be; the man who never let attention fall on himself, the man that stopped living after Dean’s possession. The man who Dean would save.

Grinding his teeth together to stifle a sound of pain, Dean put the Impala in drive, and went searching for the little brother he’d do anything to get back.

( ) ( ) ( )

Only a mile down the road, Dean stopped the car. He had no reasoning behind believing the cave to be near, but he felt it. Dean had trouble trusting his mind nowadays; so many tricks it could pull, so much pain it could generate. But his gut? That was still his--that was something he still trusted. If his gut was telling him that Sam was just around that tree-line, then by heaven, hell, and earth, he knew Sam was there. Getting out of the car was a pathetic display of coordination and skill, but he was still standing. Moving first to the trunk, he popped it and dug for another silver knife; if it was good enough for Sam to carry, it was good enough for him. Echoing in his ears was the way to kill the Adlet… _blood of the damned…_

“F’g’rs.” _Figures_

Dean only had so many options for getting the blade wet with his blood. He’d normally have sliced his palm or forearm, but that was made difficult by his unresponsive limb. Not having another obvious choice, Dean dangerously brought the knife up towards his fisted hand, not far from his neck. Slipping the tip of the blade in between his palm and his clenched fingers, he felt the familiar stinging of carved flesh and pulled back to see that the knife was covered in a thin layer of blood. He hoped it was enough. Carefully stepping into the forest, he moved committedly. A few yards into the woods, he began to see the formation of a rock ahead. As he continued approaching, he couldn’t bother thinking about a plan of attack or a contingency...all his mental and physical effort was put into walking and observing his surroundings. As the cave became closer, Dean realized that if the Adlet was inside, if this came to a fight, the only thing he could hope to do would be to distract it long enough for Sam to escape, or catch it off-guard long enough to land a fatal blow. He wouldn’t last hand-to-hand. Strangely, it didn’t bother him; only Sam’s grief over his death gave him pause. So he would try to stay alive, he would. But his hopes were low.

Entering, the cave seemed quiet and dark--only a few quiet scurries, only a slight sense of foreboding. Hugging the wall, he practically scraped along the cave’s edges in an effort to support himself. His functional hand--the one gripping the knife--was clenched around the weapon almost as hard as the ruined one was. Pausing for a moment, Dean made out a faint noise though he had no idea from where or how far away it was coming. It seemed to be rhythmic breathing; from the creature, Sam, or something else, Dean had no idea. Pressing forward, Dean attempted to make as little noise as possible. Only able to be so quiet though, his limp leg was beginning to loudly drag along the ground, pulling leaves and dislodging stones. Having no other option, he pressed forward, squinting in an attempt to adjust to his lessening visibility. Hearing a new sound, Dean paused again. This time, rather than breathing, it sounded like tapping. It wasn’t a constant, predictable pattern, though. It was bursts of short, rapid beats, and slow, lengthy gaps. Code. It was Morse Code. He struggled to recognize the patterns; he hadn’t used it in so long. Of course Sam would remember. Of course. Dean was flooded with relief that his brother was alive, kicking, and still nerdy as ever. Pulling out random letters from the tapping and scraping, Dean struggled to find meaning. D, N, T… S, P, K? _Sam, what the hell are you saying?_ Dean’s relief quickly turned to impatience and concern as he tried to decipher the message. _Oh my god is this what it’s like to talk to me? This is exhausting._ Dean concentrated and picked up a few more letters. F, L, L, W, S… V, C, S…? Dean closed his eyes, listened to the repeating patterns and tried to breathe deeply. _Just think, Dean. Sam needs you. You know this. It’s just you. All you. C’mon._ He began to put meaning to the sounds. D, ?, N, T _Don’t_ S, P, E, ?,K _Speak._

_Don’t speak! Okay, good. Move on. Next phrase._

F, ?, L, L, ?, W, S _Follows_ V, ?, ?,C, ?, S. ??

_Think, damnit. V __, __, C, __, ?, __, S. Okay, you’re trying to say this word. What the hell is it? Multiple vowels always get garbled--they all bleed together. Lots of vowels together, Sam’s using Morse Code, that’s kind of a clue in itself..._

Dean continued his silent narrative of thought until it finally clicked.

_Voices._

_Don’t speak. Follows voices._

_I got it, Sam._

Dean brought the butt of his weapon to the rock wall and began tapping out his own response as best he could.

Dot, dot, dot, dot 

**_H_ **

Dot

**_E_ **

Dot, dash, dot

**_R_ **

Dot

**_E_ **

Dean heard Sam’s message pause and repeated his own. After another pause, Dean waited to hear Sam’s new message. More than ever, he was thankful for Sam’s commitment to dorkdom, and impressed with his ability to MacGyver the hell out of _everything._

A series of dots and dashes came through twice before Dean was able to put it together.

KNIFE

Dean implied that the message should have come with a question mark, and so he simply replied with one letter. Y.

Awaiting another response was safest, but apparently not what fate had in mind. From the entrance of the cave, Dean heard approaching footsteps; claws on stone. He attempted to walk towards the area in which he heard Sam’s taps emanating, but the low light made it impossible to navigate. Running out of time, Dean made a very, very, very, haste decision. He laid himself down on the ground. If the creature found him, while it was bent to attack him, he might have a chance at stabbing it. If he’d been standing, wobbly and uneven, it would be too easy for the Adlet to capture him; if he was oddly positioned on the ground, he hoped it would give him the millisecond he needed to land a blow. The logic was scarcely there, but it was all he had. Lying prone on the ground, Dean was reminded of all the times he’d woken like this: on the ground, and scared out of his mind. Somehow, though, it was also comforting. As the approaching sound grew louder, Dean lay in wait. He hardly breathed, too nervous to move. He hadn’t hunted in so long--what if he was rusty? What if this was where it truly would end? His existential questioning was cut short by the sound of Sam's voice emanating through the cavern.

“DEAN!” The younger boy couldn’t help but break his silence. He heard the Adlet approaching just as Dean did, but Sam knew nothing of Dean’s condition. Was someone with him? Was he hurt? Likewise, he knew that Dean was most likely frantic with worry over Sam’s condition. Dean had no idea if he was tied up, trapped, injured… They were both working on so little information. Sam, knowing what he did, made a judgement call; he would lure the Adlet to himself. He was tied up along with the missing victims but he was the only one conscious. His shoulder had been hurt in the initial fight with the creature, but nothing too serious; Jody could patch him up later. At the sound of his voice, the Adlet paused just above Dean--hovering. Knowing it would be his one and only decent shot, Dean blindly lashed out. He made a broad, aggressive swipe towards the sound of the creature’s breathing and felt immediate resistance. The creature howled and Dean attempted to roll away from his immediate positioning.

“DEAN! STOP!” Sam knew his brother had engaged in a fight--a fight he was concerned Dean couldn’t win. Struggling against the knots that held him down, Sam felt the joints in his wrist straining against the pressure he was inducing.

Meanwhile, Dean had rolled a few feet to the right, and could sense, even in the dark, that the Adlet was searching for him--ignoring Sam’s voice. Clearly needing to land a better blow, Dean feverishly cut himself again with the blade, making a long gash on his hooked arm. Before he could process much of anything, his instincts were taking over, and he felt the wolf’s feet by his side. Twisting over himself, he lurched out to strike. The blade landed solidly; right into the calf of the Adlet’s leg. The monster howled once again, flailing in vain as it collapsed beside Dean, dead. Dean still couldn't see hardly anything, but that didn’t stop him from turning his head arbitrarily, attempting to find any sign of Sam.

“S’mmy! S’mmy y’u ‘hare?” _Sammy? Sammy, you there?_

“Dean--thank god. Did you kill it?” Sam didn’t have time to comprehend the situation, he was too focused on the facts.

“‘Ss d’ead. Y’u h’rt?” _It’s dead. You hurt?_

“I’m fine, I’m just tied up. Think I dislocated my wrist. All the victims are with me. Is Jody with you? Are you okay?”

“J’ss me.” _Just me_

Again, neither brother was comprehending anything other than the base information they were exchanging; no time to process what the words meant.

“C’nt s. K’p t’l’k’n. F’d y.”

There it was. He knew his speech was slowing. Dean knew that his fatigue would kick in at some point, and clearly his adreleanine was already fading. He tried again.

“K’p t’lkn.” _Keep talking_

Marginally better. He would take what he could get.

“I’m in a corner...there are at least four people tied up here too. They’re unconscious but I think they’re all alive. I was stupid to run off, I thought I could take care of it.” Sam heard an odd dragging sound and his ears pricked up in worry. “Are you ok? Dean?”

“C’mn.” _Coming_

“Dean, what happened? Are you hurt? Why the hell didn’t you call Jody?”

Dean had no choice but to crawl to Sam, slow and cumbersome as it may be. His body was slowing down; muscles shot, nerves in overdrive, and adrenaline waning. All he could do was continue moving to Sam’s voice. He wouldn’t let his brother worry over him--not until he knew Sam was safe and taken care of. Maybe not even then. Sam deserved the attention, the care; he deserved to be looked after and waited on. So Dean ignored his pain and kept on moving.

“C’r’kdd f’ne” _Cracked (my) phone_

Sam, hearing the struggle in Dean’s voice, didn’t believe that was remotely close to the full story.

“Dean, I’m freaking out, man. What happened to you?”

Dean heard Sam’s voice coming just a hair to the left and adjusted his course.

“S’zzd n’f’ll’rm c’r.”

Sam struggled to understand.

“You seized from the car?”

“F’ll.” _Fell_

“You FELL out of the car? Jesus Christ, Dean.”

Sam’s voice began to hiccup as the events of the evening began to make sense in his mind; what the hell had happened? The case was moving as slow as dirt until suddenly he was chasing a noise in the forest, being taken down by a large humanoid wolf...Dean was left alone, seizing in the car and apparently falling _out_ of the car. Then he’d somehow managed to find his way to Sam, and kill the creature with one arm, in the pitch blackness. Sam had three fully coherent words going through his head: What the fuck.

Before Sam could process anything more, he heard Dean’s approach.

“I’m over here. Be careful, the other victims are all around me. We’re tied together.”

Dean finally reached Sam and held out his good hand to feel for his brother. With Sam’s ankle in his palm, a wild rush of calm and peace began combating Dean’s fiery, anxious nerves.

Sam was here.

Right here.

He was safe.

They could deal with anything else.

“Y’r t’ll, d’mb, st’p’d ‘d’ot. Y’ ‘ow ‘at?” _You're a tall, dumb, stupid idiot. You know that?_

“And you’re a rash, crazy, stubborn-ass.”

Sam felt the silver blade maneuver between the ropes as Dean tried his best to free Sam and the others.

“S’r yr k?” _Sure you’re ok?_

“Let’s please just get the hell outta here. We need to get these victims safe, we need to get you back to Jody’s-- or to a friggin hospital.”

“S’mm. L’m’ ‘t’kare vv yu. _Sam. Let me take care of you_

“Dean. Let’s just take care of each other, okay? We both deserve that.”

Sam pulled his working phone from his pocket and handed it to Dean. With the added light, they untied the rest of the victims and called Jody. Sam gave hardly any explanation but Jody knew not to push. She was bringing ambulances and a few black-and-whites; nothing that would require too much explanation. She assured them she had it covered--something figured out--and both men were too exhausted to concern themselves with the details. Remaining in the cave, they sat in silence for a moment--both of them processing the insane events. Even for them, this had been an extraordinarily eventful day. Verbalizing this fact for the first time--the first time when it could have true, contextual meaning--Sam spoke quietly and pridefully.

“Dean. You--you killed it. You killed the Adlet.”

“S’ved y’r sss t’oo.” _Saved your ass too._

“Dean... this is--I mean--this is huge. I--” Sam was dumbstruck. Unable to respond. Sam was feeling a kind of hope that felt so good, he was sure it was a drug--a synthetic substance that wouldn’t last. “We have to--I mean we can... _you_ can… we have so much to talk about. How did--and you’re hurt so we’ll have to wait but…” Overwhelmed, Sam descended into ramblings that Dean interrupted.

“S’am, let’s j-just go home.”

“Of course, we can--”

It took them both a moment to realize.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“S-sam?” Came his response.

“Did--”

Dean laughed. A huge, boisterous, _giddy_ laugh. It echoed through the entire cave.

“S-son. Of. A. B-bitch.”

Sam couldn't stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Dean; both their injuries long-since ignored.

“L-let’s go h-home, S’ammy.”

( ) ( ) ( )

**A/N: If you like this as an ending, great! If you’re wanting more, luckily I am too. Next chapter will be lots of emotional processing, recovery, and heading back to the Bunker. Something in Dean is clearly changing--what else does that mean?**


	7. Exit Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I honestly have no idea what this chapter is. 
> 
> Picks up a short time after the end of the last chapter; Sam and Dean are both still in the cave, but Jody and her small entourage of help has arrived. 
> 
> I’m sorry if this story is moving a little slowly in terms of pace; I just rewatched Red Meat and just desperately love all the long moments of uncertainty...looks like this chapter kind of ended up reflecting the way time and pain unfold in that episode. 

The last of the victims was taken outside by Jody’s backup, and she was left briefly alone with the Winchesters. Finally a moment to reconnect without the pretense of lies and cover stories. Dean still laid on his back, in a contradictory state of pain and elation. Similarly, Sam was sitting next to his brother absentmindedly rubbing his wrist, lost somewhere in the twilight zone between shock, awe, and comfort. Dean had spoken-- _really_ spoken. Spoken without muddled sounds or dropped letters, without tension and frustration, without hesitancy or embarrassment. And for the first time in half-a-year, Sam didn’t have to labor over understanding what his brother was saying. Interrupting their silent contemplations, Jody’s frantic voice replaced her calm Sheriff’s tone. 

“What the hell happened to waiting for me??” Jody waited for a response, but both brothers were silent. 

“What’s going on, what’s wrong? Sam? Dean?” Jody bent down to meet them more on their level and Sam smiled wide. Dean mirrored his brother’s expression.

“S-sorry, Jody. Sam g-got ahead of h-himslef.” Dean spoke with a grin the whole time, and couldn’t help reveling in Jody’s shocked and emotional expression.

“Dean--I-- I’m so happy for you. How did--?”

“I h-have no idea b-but I’m n-not complaining.” 

“He killed the Adlet. I was tied up and he came to get me and he killed it--we were actually _hunting.”_ Sam spoke as if he were thinking aloud, still processing. 

Jody continued to be dumbstruck, but also was able to be more logical than the two men; they really ought to move out of the cave.

“I’d really love to move this party out into the light where we can get away from the dead-wolf’s corpse, if that’s not too much to ask. Besides, no offense, but you two need a shower. And a hospital.”

Sam reached out an arm to Jody, asking silently for a helping hand. Pulling upwards, Jody righted Sam and he reactively grimaced--the movement revealing his injuries. 

“You alright?” Jody asked.

“What I get for running off without backup.” Sam gave a small smile in embarrassment but assured Jody he would be fine. Dean had fallen silent for a moment, and both Sam and Jody began to notice. 

“Dean?” Sam questioned.

Dean let out a breath from his place on the ground. With his adrenaline gone, he was unable to enjoy his impressive feats and instead, he began sinking into his pain. 

“Dean, you wanna get up? We’re here.” Sam recognized that Dean was fading but his own exhaustion and pain made it difficult to give Dean all he needed. Jody, ever-observant, put a gentle hand on Sam to stop his motion and bent down herself to spare Sam the extra movement. 

“Dean? Talk to me. Let me help you?” She asked.

“Help Sam f-first.”

“I’m right here, Dean. I’m fine. I promise--just hurt my arm.”

Seeing that Dean would not fully concede to Jody, Sam bent down as well. 

“D-don’t want ‘veryone t-taking care of me. I’m supposed to take care of you.” Dean spoke curtly, more like a complaint than a wistful plea. His voice was factual and slightly irritated--not sentimental in the least. 

“Can we make a deal? You let me help you get out of this cave and then I promise I will sit on my ass and let someone take care of me?” Sam hadn’t intended to, but he realized that he was exhibiting a version of Routine 3; gently encouraging Dean to help himself.

The older brother, whether he was aware of this or not, was silent for a moment. Eventually he nodded in agreement. 

“Do you want to tell me everything that’s wrong or are you gonna make me guess?” 

“D-don’t know exactly what h-happened. I think I musta f-fallen out of the car. T-twisted up by leg p-pretty bad. H-hit my head but it’s okay. ‘S really my shoulder.”

Silently, Jody began taking off the belt that accompanied her uniform. Understanding where she was going, Sam moved out of the way so she could reach Dean. With his silent permission, she gingerly tucked the belt under his back and around his chest.

“You want me to tighten it?” She asked.

“Yeah…” 

Jody slowly pulled on the leather, forcing Dean’s arm to lie closely to his chest--making it impossible for the joint to be disrupted by movement. He groaned and closed his eyes, lifting his head to lightly thump back on the ground.

“Sorry.” Jody murmured. “I think you both should really let me get the paramedics in here. The cover’s all set, I promise.”

Dean’s reply came quickly and the beginning of his phrase shocked Sam.

“You’re right, J-Jody. S-Sam’s gotta get his wrist s-set. C-can you take him?”

“I’m standing right here.” Sam reminded him.

“S-so you’ll t-take him?” Dean grinned as he continued ignoring Sam.

“I’ll take you _both._ C’mon.” Jody went to stand but Dean replied before she was fully upright.

“No, just take S-Sam. I’ll be f-fine.” 

“You have to be joking.” Sam snorted.

“S’am.” Dean’s tone was ominous and heavy; clearly an indication of a deeper message. Dean hated hospitals--he hated feeling helpless and he hated being prodded...he hated being embarrassed and he hated the _lectures._ He’d been relatively willing to go in the beginning though; so desperate to find answers or find help, that nothing else mattered. He could get nice prescriptions and haggle over different medications. Oddly, when Dean was physically worse, he was treated better. He didn’t mind hospitals as much. With his improvement, though, came declining care and treatment--more easily discharged without due consideration. In a way, his refusal to go now, as Sam saw it, was a refusal to lose his progress. His speech the biggest breakthrough they’d had in a long time. Looking at Dean now, Sam was sure that his brother would be seen right away and he’d be well looked after. In other words, he was in bad shape. Dean wouldn’t afford to be treated well; it meant he was critical. So, settling, Sam offered a counter offer.

“Well regardless of what you’re gonna do, I gotta get my wrist looked at. So I’m going to Urgent Care.”

Dean took the bait.

“F-fine.”

Jody held out a hand, as she’d gotten so practiced at doing, and waited for Dean to take it. Embarrassed, he stared back at her and then to Sam who was distracted inspecting his own shoulder. Not knowing what to say, he turned a bright red. Dean thought about the patheticness of his situation; Sam was hurt and needed to get out of here and he couldn’t even stand up. How pathetic. How needy. 

Screw talking--he wanted to _walk._ Dean’s drastic and sudden changes in energy and ability were clearly affecting his mood. To be honest, it was reminding Jody of the girls; Claire and Alex could go from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. Entering mom-mode, the situation became easy to assess. They needed to 

  1. Get out of here
  2. Get medical treatment 
  3. Eat
  4. Sleep



And most importantly, 

5\. Spend some time apart

Jody could see that Dean couldn’t bear to be a burden any longer; for him to feel good, he needed Sam to separate. Likewise, Sam was fading quickly; he was drained and needed time to himself. Jody wasn’t a prideful person by nature, but she was proud at how she’d manage to diagnose their predicament. Before any progress could be made, though, Dean needed to be moved. She knew she would be relatively useless in the strength department, but she also knew Sam was hurt...she knew that Dean wouldn’t want to enlist his injured brother. One step at a time. Though Jody was beginning to form a plan, Sam was a few steps ahead of her as he always was when it came to Dean.

“I’d lift you but you wrecked your shoulder…” Sam thought out loud.

“Don’t m-make yours w-worse pickin me up.” 

“We could do the sit’n’squish” Jody finally offered. 

“What?” Sam remarked, amused.

“Some idiocally named maneuver I learned years ago; I sit behind Dean’s head and roll him upwards so his torso’s upright. You stand between his legs and lock your arms behind his lower back. I push, you pull, and hopefully _you,”_ She pointed to Dean “Are back on your feet.” 

“Be my g-guest.” 

With Dean’s affirmation, they moved into position and the older Winchester reprimanded the younger for things he’d not yet done.

“S-swear to g-god you better not mess up your s-shoulder lifting my heavy ass.”

Sam went to stand between Dean’s sprawled legs and Jody shifted behind his head. Kneeling, she placed her hands on his good shoulder and tucked her arm under his back. Dean grunted instinctively.

“Sorry. I’m gonna have to use everything I got.”

“You calling me f-fat?” Dean let out a breathy chuckle in an attempt to lessen his embarrassment. 

“I’m gonna push up on three. One. Two. Three.” Jody rolled her weight forward as Dean used his own muscles to sit up. Their joint effort was successful and he was half-upright, but clearly in distress. Jody still supported him behind so she was unable to see his twisted face.

Sam, however, feared the worst. 

“Dean?” 

Dean was absent; his eyes unfocused and his head moving back and forth repetitively. 

“Sam?” Jody asked.

“He’s having a seizure. It’s a different kind than from what you saw earlier--this should be shorter, it looks like it’s focal. Here, move his head--” 

Rather than finishing the sentence, Sam intervened. He showed Jody where to move--to support Dean’s weight and have his head rest on her chest. After a minute, Dean stilled and while still cognitively unaware, Sam knew the fit had passed. 

“He’s only gonna get worse--I can’t believe everything he had to-- I never should have gone after the damn thing myself. God, this day is never gonna end.”

Sam turned away from the scene before him and the full force of shock overtook him. His injuries lost their dull ache and transitioned into true pain; he replayed his capture, his fear, his confinement...his worry of Dean--fearing him dead...and yet from this disaster came a huge success. Dean spoke. 

In this win, Sam feared that he had been the one to prevent it; was it coincidence that Dean improved after hunting? The very thing Sam had barred him from? Feeling his chest tighten in emotion, Sam couldn’t stop himself from beginning to panic. 

“Sam--SAM! Listen to me. You are going to be fine. Dean is going to be fine. You need help and I am here to give it to you. This isn’t all on you, Sam. It’s not. So you’re gonna come over here and help me lift him up, and we’ll walk out of here.”

Sam took another moment to breathe, and then at the sound of Dean’s incoherent mumbling, came back to himself. Resuming his previous position, he locked his arms around Dean’s back and waited for Jody’s call.

“One. Two. Three--” 

They lifted in unison, and Dean began slumping forwards into Sam’s chest. 

“I gotcha. You’re safe. Gonna be okay.” Sam dropped his pitch and volume, almost whispering to Dean--perhaps an attempt at comfort when comfort was in short supply. Jody hoped there was a moment in the future when she could extend that same care to Sam. And Dean--Dean was suffering. The boys were reaching a point that Jody feared would make them unable to help each other. But be damned, she would do everything in her power to make sure that didn’t happen. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

A miserable ninety minutes later, Jody was at Urgent Care with a drained Sam, and overstimulated Dean, and their collective worry. Dean hadn’t really ever come back to himself after his focal seizure. Sam tried to coax his brother back to lucidity in the car, but Dean had another fit instead--his damaged arm contracting and releasing. Sam’s anxiety had shot through the roof at Dean’s rapid deterioration. He insisted that Dean needed his meds--that it’d been too long since he took anything. Jody used all of her energy to convince Sam that the doctor would take care of it--he didn’t have to be the sole carer. 

Having called ahead and explained as best she could, the facility was at least expecting them. A middle-aged woman (who’d once clearly worked in emergency medicine) tended to Dean’s semi-conscious state while an older man set Sam’s wrist and stitched the wound on his shoulder. Jody sat with Sam, talking to him about Claire and Alex--anything to try and calm him down, distract him from his own self-destructive tendencies. The doctor had finished up and gave Sam some mild painkillers--inviting him to stay and rest for a while. Sam was anxious to check on Dean, but Jody convinced him to wait a moment longer. Jody was right as it turns out, because the other doctor knocked on the door, and came to give them an update. 

“First things’ first--your brother is doing fine. I gave him some medication to prevent any more seizures, I set his shoulder and stitched the lacerations. I want to give him something for the pain but I needed to ask a few questions about his condition.”

The doctor gently looked towards Jody as if to ask Sam if it was okay that she was there. Sam told the woman that she could go ahead and ask her questions. 

“Some of his injuries were traumatic and I treated them accordingly, but I need a better understanding of his baseline to triage the rest. I know this can sometimes be difficult to talk about. If you’d like I can let you speak, or I could ask specific questions if that’s easier for you.” 

“I’m still uhh--processing. You should probably ask me what you need to know. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Coming out of multiple seizures we expect a mental delay but I’d like a better sense of his cognitive baseline. Does your brother suffer any permanent mental dysfunction? Memory loss? Developmental delay? Any degree of brain damage?”

It was hard for Jody not to respond to the gravity of the words the doctor so calmly spoke about, but Sam responded as if he’d heard it a million times. Perhaps he had.

“He has full cognitive function but some severe language impairments. At least--well his baseline was mostly a neurological articulation disorder--a combination of Dysarthria and Apraxia. But earlier today he--I mean just out of nowhere it shifted to a stutter. He used to drop a lot of sounds, or replace them, but then he just stuttered instead. I know it’s not all consistent information--he’s had a lot of… damage.” 

“Don’t worry about anything other than telling me what you know or what you’ve observed. All bodies and brains are immensely complex--it’s okay if it doesn't seem to all make sense. So his language impairment--of any kind--is his baseline? I don’t need to worry if he’s dropping sounds?”

“No. That’s normal.”

“And his epilepsy--”

“Well--technically he hasn’t been diagnosed. He’s treated for epilepsy but it doesn’t always categorize that easily.”

“Because he has different kinds of seizures?”

No, because he was possessed by an archangel. Sam struggled sometimes at ignoring the reasoning, but there was nothing else for him to do.

“75% of the time he has generalized tonic/clonic seizures. But sometimes, like today, he has focal seizures, usually without awareness. But he’s had the other ones too. Autonomic, Motor, Sensory, Aura… he really only hasn’t had the uhh” Sam struggled to remember the technical name he had never needed to know. “--sorry I can’t remember umm...the dropping. He hasn’t ever had that.”

“Atonic?”

“That’s it. He doesn’t have those.”

“And his motor function--his arm and his leg?”

“He hurt them earlier--he had a fit and I wasn’t with him. He fell. Hurt his shoulder and his leg.” 

Sam’s voice dropped and the doctor spoke with great empathy.

“Don’t blame yourself. Like I said, your brother’s gonna be fine. But his arm and his leg--they normally have limited function?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Okay. Thank you. I’m gonna go look in on him and get him some painkillers. He’ll probably fall asleep if he hasn’t already. I hope you can do the same. Stay here as long as you need.”

The doctor left the room, then, leaving Jody and Sam alone. The Sheriff had been leveled by the doctor’s words. She had been with Dean these past few days--been with Sam. And yet hearing the words that were now a part of their vocabulary...it saddened her. But Sam didn’t need sad--he needed a push in the right direction. He needed to be cared for, and he needed to be reminded to care about himself. 

“I don’t want Dean to come-to alone. I’m gonna see if--”

“Sam.” Jody resurrected her mom-voice. “Sit. Now.” 

He paused his movements and Jody continued her tirade.

“You’re gonna sit here and let me take care of you. You’re going to eat and sleep and take the rest of the day to yourself.”

“Jody, thank you, I mean it, but Dean--”

“Dean will be fine. And you will go at least an hour without saying your brothers’ name.” 

Sam opened his mouth--presumably to say the now-outlawed name. Closing his mouth with a shadow of a smile, he nodded. 

“Good. Now talk to me. About anything other than stress. Come up with the _least_ productive conversation we could have.”

Thanking for a moment, Sam settled on something adequately meaningless.

“I saw a new documentary. About the Dating Game Killer, Rodney Alcala.” 

Jody laughed.

“What?”

“Your leisure time consists of watching serial killers?” 

“Life’s too short not to embrace my hobbies…”

“No, I’m not judging. Believe me. I watched _Point Break_ last week.” 

“Don’t tell Dean--he’ll be jealous.”

Rather than reprimanding him for uttering the forbidden name, Jody smiled a gentle, maternal smile and took a quiet moment of contemplation. 

“You’re a good brother, Sam. And a good man.”

He was quiet for a beat.

“So is Dean…” He defended.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Jody reassured him. “He’s just not the one who needs to hear it right now.” She stood, then, beckoning him to the door. “C’mon. We’ll go make sure your brother’s settled and then I’m getting you food, and you are going to sleep until the cows come home.” 

Leading him out of the sterile exam room, Jody knew that it was probably the last few hours she’d spend with the Winchesters until their next visit. It was obvious they needed to get back to their space and their routines. Jody wasn’t saddened by this, though, she was proud. Maybe she’d given them exactly what they needed--whatever that be. 

She had been a friend. For Jody Mills, there was no greater compliment. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

**A/N: I’m sorry this story is getting repetitive. It began as Dean whump and has naturally kind of extended but I know the same themes keep coming up. Which parts do you like--that you want to see more of? What are you sick of reading about?**


	8. Balancing Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Reminder that I hold no medical degrees and everything medical I’ve...
> 
> a) made up  
> b) googled  
> c) copied from ER.

Dean came to full consciousness about five hours after they arrived at the Urgent Care. It was well into the evening by now but he had lost his concept of time. The discomfort in his body told him that his hunting excursions couldn’t have been long ago, and the mild dripping sound he heard above him indicated he was still receiving some sort of medication. While he was awake, his memory was spotty to say the least. He had clear images of everything up until Jody and Sam attempted to pull him upright. After that, he was unsure of everything. He still had logic, though, and it wasn’t difficult to assume what had happened. Most likely he had some kind of setback in the aftermath of his fight with the Adlet and Sam and Jody had taken him to a hospital or a clinic.  _ Sam.  _ Dean’s gut told him that his brother was safe, but without his most recent memories, he couldn’t be absolute. Nervous to call out, he feared that his words would come out as a garbled mess of noises; his progress ruined. But sitting in silence wasn’t a better option. 

“H’llo? N-nyone t-there?”

Better than before, but still not perfect. He could deal with it.

“S-Sam?” 

He couldn’t manage to raise his voice above a loud conversational volume, but he hoped it was enough. Rather than seeing his brother’s face, a soft round one came into view. She was calm and moved patiently, her doctor’s coat telling him who she was. 

“Hi there. I’m Dr. Kroff. Your brother is sleeping in the other room and he’s just fine. Your other friend--the police officer--she went home to grab you both a few things. How are you feeling?”

“B-been worse. My b-brother g-get hurt?”

“His wrist and shoulder. Nothing serious. I can get him if you need.”

“N-no. Let him s-ssleep.”

“You mind if I ask you a few questions? Make sure you didn’t hit your head too hard?”

“K.”

She pulled a small penlight from her pocket and flashed it into both of his eyes, making sure his pupils were equal and reactive. 

“Doesn’t look like a concussion. Can you tell me what day it is? Where you are?”

“W-Wednesday I think s-still. I’m c-clearly in a h-hospital or s-something s-smaller. S-Sam said he was going to Urgent C-Care.”

“Perfect score. Does your head hurt?”

“No.”

She squinted a little, not believing him entirely. 

“Does anything else hurt?”

Dean was hesitant to answer her, not enjoying the fact that he didn’t know what was going on, or what their cover story was. 

“L-let my b-brother sleep and then w-we’ll l-leave.”

“I know this has been an awful day for you and your brother. I’m just trying to help. Kinda my job. Let me do it right, please?”

Her tone softened his mood and he conceded despite his instincts. 

“Y-you being nice c-cause I’m so m-messed up?”

“I worked in emergency medicine in New York City for seven years. You’re not messed up, Dean. I’m being nice because I think I can help. And if I  _ can  _ help, then it’s my responsibility to do that.” 

Oddly, Dean was kind of moved by her quiet resolution. He felt the same way. 

“My l-leg. S-shoulder.”

“Do they normally hurt?”

She put gloves on as she spoke to him, and went about looking in various drawers. 

“N-not this b-bad.”

In truth, his limbs were vibrating in pain--clenched and unrelenting in their pulsating. She came to the side of the bed, reaching out her hands to his bent knee first. Her touch caused a fiery pulse of heat to radiate down his leg and he instinctively moved away from her touch. She gave a nod in apology and did the same with his shoulder--his reaction the same.

“They’re cramping pretty badly aren’t they?”

Dean looked away from her, turning his head to the window. He tensed his jaw and tried to remember that she wasn’t judging him, or pitying him. She was just doing her job. Still, Dean couldn’t stop his feelings of anger and resentment, embarrassment and shame. He didn’t want to confess weakness to this woman, and yet he needed her help. Stepping away from him, the woman gave him a moment of privacy and space. It was clear to her that his condition, however used to it he seemed to be, was recent. She could see how it degraded him and made him feel different and strange...he still saw it as suffering a loss. She hoped time would teach him that none of his perceptions were true. 

“I’m not here to counsel you...to make you feel comforted. I’m here to make sure you’re safe, and not in pain. You want that, your friend wants that, your brother wants that, and I want it too. But I can’t do it alone. I need you to meet me halfway.” 

Still turned away, Dean couldn’t yet meet her gaze, but he respected her enough to speak.

“M-muscles f-feel how they do b-before I’m gonna s-seize.”

“Do you feel like you’re going to have one now?”

“N-no. Just tense.”

She went back to rummaging through her supplies and came back with a long piece of fabric. 

“I think your muscles are still tonic. I’m gonna try and relax them if I can. Do you take anything usually? For your cramping?”

“Diazep-pam.”

“Okay. I’ll wrap your leg here and then get you a dose, see if we can’t calm the spasming down.”

The doctor reached towards Dean’s leg, and in one swift movement, wrapped the fabric around his leg such that it was kept in a slightly bent position. Dean exhaled sharply at the sudden jolt of pain but almost immediately felt blood rushing out of his leg, releasing some of the pressure. 

“T-thanks.” 

“I’ll get that Diazepam now.” 

The doctor disappeared momentarily to a back room and came back with a syringe. She administered the drug to Dean’s I.V. and then took his pulse. After removing her hands from his wrist, she knitted her eyebrows and bent to retrieve a blood pressure cup.

“W-what?”

“Your pulse is a little fast. I’m gonna check your blood pressure. Are you feeling okay?”

“F-fine.”

She placed the cuff on his working arm and began pumping the small bulb. Cleary concentrated on numbers and counting, Dean didn’t interrupt her thoughts. Pulling away from him and releasing the air on the cuff, she pulled a vial from the cabinet and prepared another needle.

“W-what’s going on?”

“Sorry to break this to you but I think you’re gonna have another seizure. I gave you medication to stop them earlier but your blood pressure is high and your muscles are still locked… Do you always feel them coming on? Do sometimes they surprise you?”

“Us-sually know. S-sometimes just happens. B-been a bad day.”

“I don’t mean to be pessimistic but I think your body’s having some trouble. Have you broken your routines lately? Anything to aggravate your condition?”

The events of the last few days flashed in Dean’s mind and it was almost funny how ironic her question was.

“You c-could s-say that.” 

“Your brother said something about your speech changing, he said you had a huge improvement? Did that just happen? Today?”

“Yeah. W-why?”

“I’m not sure...sometimes there’s kind of an unexpected relationship between mind and body.”

Dean had a deep intake of breath as he was helpless to the replaying of Michael banging in his head, the havoc the angel left, Cas’ ominous warning, the unbalanced scales… Dean was at the mercy of his mind and he watched a terrifying scene unfold in his head; the room where Michael had been, destroyed and dilapidated, was rearranging itself. The storage room was reconfiguring. Barrels knocked over but crates stacked neatly, broken glass swept away but bottles still leaking...the mess was changing. And as this unfolded, Dean felt his limbs freeze in a tonic state, his neck stiffening and turning away from the doctor’s face. He was still clinging onto consciousness and heard her attempts to calm him. He felt her climb onto the bed and roll him into his side, placing one hand on his back and another on his shoulder. He wanted to call out to Sam--to explain to him that something was wrong, something was changing. But his jaw had long ceased being under his control. As a gravely bleat came from his throat, he heard the woman’s soft assurances before he was pulled into the dark disarray of Michale’s grave--a place only accessible from the recesses of his mind. 

  
  


( ) ( ) ( ) 

Dean, lost to unconsciousness, was unaware of the bustling in the small exam room. Sam responded to his brother’s involuntary cries and came barging into the room. Upon seeing Dean contracting on the table and the doctor frantically attempting to keep him from rolling off, Sam rushed over to help without fearing danger of attack. 

“What happened?” Sam demanded as he grabbed Dean’s other side. 

“His blood pressure was high...he was lucid but it came on quickly. Take his I.V. out, it’ll tear his vein.”

Sam removed one hand from his brother in order to pull the needle and tape from Dean’s skin. 

“JEFFERY CAN WE GET SOME HELP IN HERE?” The woman shouted and her panic began worrying Sam.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam was becoming agitated at her lack of communication and scared about the violence of Dean’s seizure. He still held onto his brother tightly, attempting to keep him firmly on the bed. 

“He needs a hospital--I--I don’t understand his condition well enough but this is too many seizures in a day...and back to back. This one’s already been too long and I can’t push any more drugs…”

The doctor who tended to Sam came rushing in and stopped her sentence. He went immediately to a cabinet, pulling out medications and she yelled at him angrily in response.

“Jeff, we can’t push Ativan--”

As if reassuring her, Dean’s body suddenly stilled. His frantic thrashing calmed but other unfortunate side-effects replaced it. Dean opened his eyes and absently looked around the room, searching for anything to ground him to reality. Sam’s face came into view and he groaned--his only means of communication at the moment. 

“Hey. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Rather than speaking, Dean let out a breath and attempted to roll onto his back. Dr. Koff made a few relaxing assurances as she helped guide him into a recovery position. The male doctor, Jeffery, still lingered in the room. He looked on plainly and made no efforts to help or allow for privacy. His presence was made worse by the fact that Dean had an accident--his pants wet. Not yet fully present, Sam wanted Dr. Kroff to check his vitals as quickly as possible so that Dean could recover in privacy. The women placed a palm on Dean’s forehead and seemed pleased that his reaction was to turn towards her; obviously this had been some kind of reflex response test. Sam kept a hand on Dean the whole time--reminding him that he was anchored somewhere safe. 

Putting her hand in his good one, she began another test.

“Hi Dean. You with me? Squeeze my hand if you can. If you need another minute that’s okay. Take your time.” 

Dean’s hand was still, but he turned to look at Sam.

“He hears you but I think he needs a second.” Sam articulated the message for his brother, and the other doctor, still looming, began collecting things around the room. A plastic bag, a dressing down, scissors...and with his collection in tow, he approached the end of the bed. Dean rapidly squeezed Dr. Kroff’s hand, and sent a look back to Sam.

“Good, Dean. Now--”

“Excuse me.” Sam interrupted her commentary in order to pause the other man from proceeding. At the present moment, the gentleman had scissors lined up with Dean’s pants, and a bundled gown thrown over his wet crotch. “We’d like a moment of privacy please.” Sam attempted to be polite but the man didn’t look up at him, continuing to treat Dean like a slab of meat. “We don’t need an audience!” Sam emphasized the last part of his sentence and spoke with enough volume that anyone outside would have certainly heard. The man looked to his co-worker, but she raised her eyebrows and nodded her head towards the door. Leaving, he mumbled indignantly. 

“I’m sorry about him. He used to be a surgeon. Not very used to patients being conscious.” The woman spoke to both of them despite the fact that Dean was still a little foggy. 

“Anytime you feel like moving you let us know.”

Dean shakingly lifted his good arm and made a loose thumbs up as he brought the arm to rest on his abdomen. Dr. Kroff smiled and nodded.

“Okay well you are clearly coming out of this just fine. No rush. Take all the time you need. I’ll step away for a minute but just shout if you need me.” She left with a wink and Sam allowed himself a rare moment of confession. 

“Dean this is my fault. You never should have had to rescue me. I was so tired of...of not being helpful. I thought if I killed the Adlet then we could feel good about something, anything. But I messed up and you had to save me just like always. And look what happened because of it.” Sam pulled a chair from the corner and sat next to Dean’s prone form. “I’m so sorry.” 

Sam’s brother shook his head lightly back and forth and opened his mouth to try and speak for the first time since his fit.

“Don’t ever say that, Sammy.” Dean spoke with no impediment. No hesitation, no stutter. Nothing. It was perfect.

The younger Winchester’s head snapped upwards and Dean’s eyes grew wide. 

“What the hell is happening?” Sam’s first instinct was worry, rather than joy.

“You’re complaining?” Dean responded, a little disappointed. 

“No, no, no no no! Of course not. I didn’t mean to sound like that.” 

“Sammy?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Nothing. Just like saying it.”

Saam laughed, standing from the chair. 

“I have a feeling there are a lot of words that’ll be making an appearance in the next hour.”

“Bitch.”

“You feeling better?”

“Fuck.”

“You wanna sit up?”

“Impala.” 

For the next few moments, Sam attempted to steer the conversation towards productivity, but Dean was hell-bent on enjoying his newfound ability for articulation. Sam would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t feeling happier than he had all year. A piece of him was still unsure, though; what consequences did this have? It was rare that the Winchesters ever had a free pass. 

“Dean, did anything change? Anything you know about?”

“Before the last fit I -- I don’t know how to describe it. My head-- I mean…” Dean struggled to find a way to explain how his mind worked--how to explain the destruction Michael left, and how to explain how it was changing. “When  _ he  _ left, there was...I felt everything collapse...any order there was just fell apart. And it’s been that way ever since. Messy. But right before I seized there was a... a reorg, kinda. I’m not sure. I could feel it though. Those scales Cas talked about...they don’t feel like scales but I know what he was saying now. Things aren't any less messy upstairs but the balance changed. The weight shifted.” 

“But where did it shift? I’m not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, I just don’t want any surprises.” 

“Yeah you and me both. I don’t have an answer though. I need a little time.”

“Of course. Not trying to rush you.”

“You know what I do want to rush though? Getting off this freakin bed.” 

Sam reached to put a hand behind Dean’s good shoulder and at his brother’s go-ahead he helped lift him into a sitting position. Dean moaned at the change in positioning and Sam recognized his face before Dean had gotten the word out. 

“Sick…” 

Sam reached for a nearby basin but it was too late. Dean puked over the side of the cot, not fully able to avoid getting it on himself. Dean’s eyes were closed, Sam assumed because to him, the room was spinning. He held Dean upright and patted his back gently until the gagging settled, muttering generic condolences. With a final spit, Dean made a noise of disgust and brought his hand to his face to wipe his mouth. Sam handed him a cloth, instead, and Dean took it thankfully. After a minute of silent recovery, Dean motioned for Sam to move away from him and looked at himself, repulsed. His shirt was stained with his bile, his limbs still a little shaky, and his wet pants beginning to become uncomfortable.

“I’m disgusting…” 

“Jody’s bringing our stuff from the house. You can change when she gets back.”

“I need a shower.” 

“I’ll go ask. You ok for a minute?”

Dean nodded and remained still in his seat; he knew that Sam was going to ask about using a shower, yes, but he also knew that he was telling them he’d thrown up. Dean tried not to think about it, and when he did, he tried reminding himself that it didn’t matter. But Dean had never been good at extending allowances. Himself included. 

Reentering, Sam gestured with his head to a back hallway. 

“Jody’s ten minutes out. Dr. Kroff says we can use the bathroom down the hall.”

Dean was hesitant to admit that his body was stiff and unresponsive; it began to occur to him that this was the trade off for his improved speech. His body fails, his language improves. What a twisted deal. It was too soon to tell, though, so he shelved the conspiracy for another time. Unaware of how bad it was, Sam waited for Dean to either get off the bed, or ask for a hand. The older brother struggled to ask for the level of assistance he’d need. Somehow, with his speech now in perfect condition, it made it even harder to ask for help.

“Sam?”

His brother’s big, round, puppy eyes could not have been more difficult to stare at.

“Need help moving.”

Sam came to stand next to his brother, awaiting more instruction. 

“No…” Sam looked on, confused, and Dean had to look away before continuing. “I can’t move my leg at all. It’s not listening.” Dean tried to add a dry chuckle to the end of his statement but it was in vain. Sam, as usual, seemed completely unaffected by his confession and simply retrieved a folded wheelchair from across the room. Opening it, he wheeled it to the side of the bed and positioned himself under Dean’s good side. Successfully wedged under his unbroken shoulder, Sam prepared to lift. 

“One. Two. Three.” 

With a little difficulty, they managed to get Dean settled into the chair, and Sam began leading him down the hall, towards the bathroom. 

“How’s your wrist?” Dean asked.

“Numb, mostly. The doc gave me some painkillers.” 

Arriving at the bathroom, Sam put the locks on the wheelchair and moved to stand in front of Dean, extending an arm. 

“Thanks.” Dean said, locking eyes with his brother. Sam scowled at the comment. 

“I told you, you never have to say that.”

“Different now that I  _ can  _ actually say it.” 

Dean let the moment drop as he held his hand out for Sam to grab. Getting Dean into the shower was not without difficulty, but Dean’s ability to curse with impeccable articulation made the debacle more enjoyable than it normally would have been. Dean, sitting on a bench in the shower, tried to carry on a conversation with Sam who was standing on the other side of the curtain. 

“So that Doc’s pretty--” Dean made a sound somewhere between a whistle and tongue click, indicating that he found her attractive. Sam rolled his eyes into his head and bit his lip to stifle a smile even though Dean wouldn’t see either way.

“Sure, Dean.” 

Sam knew his brother didn’t mean it in any crude way, and mostly he was simply expressing a desire for normalcy and lightheartedness. 

“Not that I’m complaining...but any word on when Jody’ll show up with my clothes? Pretty as the doctor is, I don’t think I want her seein’ my unmentionables.” 

“Any minute prolly. If you’re settled I’ll go peak my head out. See if she’s here.” 

“I’m good. Can’t get up even if I wanted to so…” 

A hint of sadness settled in his tone but he was trying very hard to stifle it. 

“Okay, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Sam slowly left the room, waiting an extra moment to see if his brother would change his mind. Rather than call Sam back, though, Dean started singing the opening verse to Shook Me All Night Long. Sam smiled the whole way down the hall. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Dean was changed into dry, clean clothes, Sam had aftercare instructions for his stitches, and Dr. Kroff was finishing up a few charts. As the Winchester’s headed for the door, she ran and handed Dean a thin manilla folder. 

“This is a copy of your records from today. In case you want to pass them along to your primary care physician.” 

Dean was surprised at her thoroughness but smiled his charming smile as if he was expecting it the whole time. 

“Thanks. For the papers. And thanks for uhh--” 

Dean’s bravado fell apart as he replayed the time spent with her: seizing on the table. She was ever-the-professional though and shook her head to stop his gratitudes. 

“Just do us both a favor and take it easy?” 

“I can do that.” He smiled at her, thinking their exchange was over. With a final turn, she gave him one last parting thought. 

“You have a nice voice, Dean. I’m glad I was able to hear it.” 

If she was speaking in general terms, or was referencing his shower-concernt, he didn’t know. Still, in either case, his ears turned a bright red and she turned and walked off, shaking Sam’s hand on the way back to her office. 

“What was that about?” Sam’s eyebrows scrunched together and used his hand to reference both her departure and the folder in Dean’s lap. 

“She was just--just giving me some papers.” 

“Uhh-huh. And did she say anything about those papers?”

“No, not really.” Dean’s voice rose in pitch a little, still wondering if she’d heard him singing. Sam smiled to himself as he wheeled Dean down the ramp outside to the parking lot. Jody was standing by her truck with a few bags, and the Impala in the spot next to hers. Since dropping the boys off she’d made a whole bunch of errands; getting their things, their car, and helping Alex navigate the freeways home. Seeing them finally emerge, she started talking. 

“Well you two really know when to quit. Alex and Claire just called--they are on their way home and they both sound like Oscar the Grouch. You’re not missing out on anything here, that’s for sure.” She handed one bag to Sam, and another to Dean. “Oh and this is just some chicken and mashed potatoes--it’s only leftovers so I promise I didn’t go to any trouble.”

“Jody, thank you. For absolutely everything. It was great seeing you.” Sam gave her a half-hug while still holding his things. 

“It was so good seeing you too.” She reassured them.

“Jody. You’re a saint. What can I say? Don’t deserve you.” Dean reached out his good arm for a quarter hug and Jody happily leaned in to meet him.

“Don’t be strangers. And I promise if I come across another Adlet you’ll be the first call I make. Don’t know where else I’ll be getting blood of the damned.”

Sam nodded with a grin as he pushed Dean over to Impala. Jody also got into her car and waved as she pulled out of the small lot. They worked together in silence as Dean slid awkwardly into the backseat; once he was settled, Sam moved to the driver’s seat and without prompting he put in an AC/DC tape. 

“You know I’m gonna sing along, right?” Dean asked from the back.

“Was kinda hoping you would.” Sam admitted, putting the car in reverse. 

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“The doctor left her number in the folder. Just sayin” Dean laughed as Sam merged onto the road.

“Well then it’s a good thing we’re headed home.” 


	9. Breakfast, Buses, and Bombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I cannot thank you enough for your continued reading and support! Things have been so very heavy in this story so in this chapter we see some much-needed positivity! 
> 
> P.s. Dean’s laptop magically teleports in this chapter because for the life of me I could not keep track of where it was as I wrote. 

The car ride back home was long, but not nearly as arduous as the trip there. Half way they stopped again at the Founder’s Creek Diner and Dean was all smiles; four different plates of food and no hesitations ordering. As bad as his leg had been leaving the clinic, a few hours of sleep in the back of the car seemed to have cured him of stiffness and pain. Sam cautioned him to still take it easy, and Dean agreed, but that didn’t stop him from reveling in his victories. He sweet-talked the waitress every time she came by the table, he ordered two slices of pie, and he paid the check, signature and all. Standing to leave, he caught sight of his reflection in the same pane of glass--the same reflection that taunted him once before. While his arm was still tightly clutched to his chest, he didn’t notice it in comparison to the smile on his face. Ready to leave, Dean gripped the tabletop and pushed himself upwards from the booth. Standing without the aid of an object or his brother, Dean walked out of the diner completely uninhibited and unassisted. Opting to take the ramp, rather than the stairs, though, it was clear that Dean wasn’t pushing his luck. 

Back in the car, Sam was already planning for when they got back to the bunker. Dean would need to rest, probably. Sam wouldn’t force anything. But Dean was improving, it seemed, and rapidly. If that trajectory continued, Sam wanted to be able to get back to something  _ good.  _ Truth be told, despite the disaster that was the Adlet hunt, he lived for it. He hadn’t really processed how much he missed hunting, how badly he’d been itching to work again. If Dean kept getting better, then maybe, just  _ maybe  _ they could get back to something like  _ before.  _ But  _ before _ was a dangerous word and Sam didn’t use it lightly. He’d read all the grief counseling literature, the trauma recovery pamphlets and lectures...he knew that the number one rule was not to wish for what you didn’t have: what you  _ used  _ to have. But the world didn't know what he did. He and Dean weren’t bound by science, nor by superstition. For the Winchesters--elitist as it sounds-- rules didn’t apply. As the hours in the car passed, Dean continued talking and talking and talking and  _ talking... _ and Sam was more than happy to listen. A million conversations later, after seven hours in the car (a ten hour collective trip), they were finally home. Out of habit, Sam automatically went to the back seat, planning on helping Dean out of the car. 

“Hold on.” Dean instructed. “I’m already on a winning streak.” 

The older brother scooched over to the open door, and first got his weaker leg onto the ground. Doing the same with his strong leg, he then reached out for the door looking for something to grab--something other than Sam. Rocking his weight forward, he pulled on the door in an effort to get him out of the back seat. Things didn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped, but not at his own fault. At the awkward angle, the door swung back inwards and nearly knocked Dean back into the car. Sam’s long arm caught it before it hit Dean, and Dean then maneuvered out of the way to stand next to his brother. Closing the door, Sam had a silent laugh and Dean reflected on the moment humorously. 

“I’ll work on that.” 

Sam went to the trunk to get their bags and Dean followed rather than going inside. 

“Give me my bag.” Dean nudged Sam as he pulled the duffles from the back.

“Dean--” Sam began.

“I’m not pushing it, I promise. I feel good, Sam. I do.”

Sam handed Dean his bag and he cautiously put it over his shoulder, testing to make sure it wouldn’t disrupt his balance. Confident he could manage it, he started for the bunker. Once inside, Dean was still feeling good but he, even more than Sam, wanted to be conservative. He felt his muscles fatiguing, his mind beginning to go a little foggy. He headed for his room, planning on trying to take it easy. He could feel Sam’s eyes watch him as he walked down the hall, his limp slowly getting worse. He successfully arrived at room 11 unscathed and dropped his bag as soon as he stepped over the threshold. Picking up his laptop from the table, he then dropped onto the bed and melted onto the mattress. It wasn’t long before his eyelids were drooping and he faded into the comfort of sleeping in his own bed. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Upon waking, Dean was stiff but not in too much pain. Thankfully, he’d slept on his back which allowed his still-healing shoulder to not bear any weight. His laptop, still in the bed beside him, indicated it was early--almost five in the morning. While he wanted to stay in bed, his bladder had other priorities; he gingerly moved his rigid muscles and used the nightstand to support himself as he stood. Once finished in the bathroom, he concluded that he’d never be able to get back to sleep. On a bit of a recon mission, he walked the opposite direction down the hall to Sam’s room. Quietly as he could he nudged the door open, pleased to observe that Sam was still sound asleep--snoring and on his belly. Smiling at the sight, Dean backed away as seamlessly as he could and headed for the kitchen. His joints still hadn’t quite woken up so the few steps down to the kitchen were a bit cumbersome, but he’d managed it alright. He had to sit at the table for a moment to recover but he traded this happily for his ability to move unaided. In his moment of meditation, once again he feared that these improvements were on a time-table--that it was only a matter of days until he got worse again. If that was coming, though, then he’d deal with it when it did. Best he enjoy what has while he still has it. Mocking a possible impending decline, he stood to make breakfast; to try and use every ounce of capability he had. Ever since settling at the bunker, Dean had become efficient in the kitchen. For someone who loves food, it was only natural that he had some fun making it. Despite wanting waffles, he had no desire to make up batter and frig around with the iron. He settled on something egg-based; something Sam would like. As he collected the few things he’d need, a better idea came to him.  _ French toast.  _ Adjusting, he also grabbed the bread and a few seasonings from a rack that had never been touched; he hoped they weren't from the 50s. Before actually cooking, he had to sit again to rest. He contemplated taking something, but worried his high doses from the clinic might still be in his system. A few moments sitting seemed to be enough recovery for the time being and he went back to his morning project. Cracking eggs one-handed wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared and only one piece shell fell into his pan; one large enough that he could simply pluck it out. He lost track of time as he cooked, especially because he kept taking intermittent breaks, lest his leg give out on him. What he really needed right about now was coffee; they only had whole beans though, and Dean didn’t want to risk waking Sam with the sound of the grinder. Successfully plating the french toast and the eggs, Dean began to feel a little warm and a little dizzy. He blamed it on the literal heat of the kitchen and sat down once again. Appearing at the threshold was Sam--complete with bedhead. He looked at the scene before him and blinked as if to check and see if he was still asleep; somehow dreaming. Bewildered, he stepped down into the kitchen and pointed to the food warm on the stove. 

“Did you…?” He began

Dean moved his eyebrows up and smiled as he nodded; a prideful, giddy child. 

“B’nifit ‘w’kin up at f-five.”  _ Benefit of walking up at five _

Damnit. 

The set-back he feared. 

Dean scowled at the unfairness of the trade-off but Sam handled the situation like the pro he was. He simply went to the counter and brought back the plates of food. 

“I can’t believe you were up at five. I thought you’d sleep for like twelve hours.” 

Sam ignored Dean’s hiccupy speech and he did so without difficulty. Sam was too busy feeling elated at Dean’s physical victory to be worried about early-morning stuttering. 

“F-figured the same ab-bout you.” Dean raised his eyebrows and dug into the food, pretending that he hadn’t just burned his tongue. 

“You want coffee?” Sam asked, standing.

“Yeah. I w-would’ve made some but I didn’t w-want to wake you with the grinder.” 

Sam shot a look back to Dean as if to say I-told-you-so; Dean’s articulation was returning rapidly.

“You  _ clearly  _ did enough already. How did you even learn to make french toast?” Sam, like Dean had been earlier, was all smiles.

“D-donna gave me a recipe at some point. Thought you c-could use a break from doing...you know...ev-verything.” 

Sam didn’t acknowledge Dean’s comment and instead brewed the coffee as his brother continued to eat. A beat of silence passed and the previous conversation was dropped; Dean began a new one. 

“Have you heard from Cas lately? He’s been AWOL.” 

“Not since you saw him at Jody’s...He’s probably busy in Heaven. Said there was a lot of stuff to reorganize. Why? Did you call him?”

“No I haven’t talked to him since Jody’s either. Well, I...I prayed to him when you got taken by the Adlet but he never showed. Probably just b-busy.”

Sam sat back at the table with the coffee and continued eating. 

“Anyways…” Dean immediately went into a segway and stood with a little resistance from his muscles. He walked to his laptop which he’d laid by the coffee pot and placed it on the table between him and Sam. “You know the Sayer Mansion?” 

“The Clue House? Yeah, of course. Did you find a case?” Sam’s voice broke in a little bit of worry; as much as he wanted to get back to hunting, this was jumping the gun. 

“No, there’s no case.” Dean opened his laptop and scrolled for a minute, eventually turning it around to show Sam the elegant website. “There’s a s-screening going on. Someone found and restored all the old reels they had in the basement--all the original footage of the interviews and the parties...murder and mayhem galore.” 

Sam’s face lit up--eyes completely focused on reading as he spoke.

“The lost footage? Of the original cult members? Dean how the hell did you hear about this? I mean this group was the first to gain public attention for--”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Save it for the other nerds, will you?” Dean feigned disinterest as he opened up a new tab on his screen. 

“Tickets?!” Sam exclaimed “You got me tickets?”

“One night only. Couldn’t have you miss the party. Not too far away. An hour maybe. You could use a night of Sam-approved fun.” 

Sam broke his gaze away from the computer for the first time.

“You’re not coming?” 

“You’ve had enough of me. And no offense, but I’ve had enough of you. I’m good, Sam.”

Sam accepted that, and happily went back to reading about the event. 

“It’s tonight?” He asked.

“Yeah, sorry for the short notice. Only saw it last night...you don’t have to go.”

“NO, no, I want to go I just...I wanted to wait and make sure you were feeling well enough.” 

Sam was hesitant to share his thoughts; he knew that both he and Dean were feeling like they were on top of the world and he didn’t want to ruin that feeling by reminding them of their circumstances. 

“I’m prolly gonna crash early anyways. Still tired.” Dean’s response was nonchalant and Sam tabled the discussion for later. 

“Alright well if you’re gonna geek-out here, I’m gonna go change.” Dean went to stand but his foot caught the leg of the table as he pushed the chair away. Faltering, Dean just nearly missed cracking his head against the kitchen counter. Sam’s hands were on him instantly as he righted himself. 

“So yeah. I’m gonna go lie down.” Dean was still a little hot and dizzy from making breakfast but he was okay to walk back to his room. Sam gave him an arm to get up the few kitchen steps and then left his brother to shuffle down the hallway back to his room. Upon seeing his bed, Dean realized how tried he still was; there was no denying that the past two days had been chaotic. Much as he wanted to forget it, they had also been packed full of mind-numbing seizures. So yeah. He was gonna take a day to sleep it off, and Sam was gonna have a night without worry and obligation. It seemed like a good deal to Dean. And boy was Dean Winchester an expert on deals. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

For the second time that day, Dean awoke in his bed. His mouth was dry, and his limbs a little numb. They had a faint tingling about them; almost pins and needles. Considering he’d been asleep, though, he assumed that it was from that, and not an impending fit. Sitting up, his body was as creaky as the bed itself but he had to admit that he felt better. Moving at a snail’s pace he got out of bed and reached for his phone before remembering that he’d cracked it. Great. Migrating down the hall, he checked the clock for the time and was surprised to see that it had gotten so late--almost six. Sam hadn’t been so wrong about him sleeping for twelve hours after all. Jeez, had it really been that long? Finding his laptop on the map table, there was also a note and a cell phone accompanying it. 

_ Headed out to the Sayer Mansion. You’re still asleep. Left you an extra phone. Call me for anything.  _

_ -Sam _

Dean read the note and pocketed the cell, happy to see that Sam was eager to go to the event. Dean sat clumsily and opened his computer, unsure what to do. He was bored. So very bored. 

And hungry. 

And lazy. 

And did he mention bored? 

Okay well sitting and complaining wasn’t doing him any good; he learned that a long time ago. From Dad, mostly. Wow.  _ Dad.  _ He hadn’t thought about Dad in a long time. To be fair, he thought about Dad almost every day, but not in the way he just had. Upon consideration, Dean realized that he really hadn’t thought if Dad were alive today--how John would react to seeing Dean like this. Truth be told, Dean wasn’t sure exactly how his dad would respond...so much had changed, so much time had passed...there was no way to know. Dean wasn’t up for lonely, nostalgic longing so he mentally shelved it and decided to be productive. He really didn’t feel like cooking...at all. But he did stuff he didn’t want to do all the time so it wasn’t that much of a stretch. Walking to the kitchen felt like a hike but a consolation prize awaited him on the table. 

_ You made me breakfast, I’ll make you dinner.  _

_ -S _

Below the note was a wrapped plate with sandwiches and despite his agitation that Sam went to the trouble, he was relieved. Eating in silence, his good hand was a little shaky. He needed his meds before things reached the point of no return. Heading to the bathroom, Dean pulled the prescription bottles from his cabinet but his fine motor function was a little too uncoordinated to get the pesky lids off the bottles. Problem solving second nature, Dean plugged the sink and placed the bottle on top of the drain. Then, he took the heavy metal soap dish and dropped it onto the weak yellow plastic. It cracked easily and he took his doses, funneling the extra pills back into the cracked container. He’d deal with it later. 

A noise from the map room startled him, and he hugged the bathroom wall in reflex. 

“Sam? Dean?” Cas’ familiar voice echoed down the hall and Dean shouted back, relieved he didn’t have to deal with danger. 

“Just me, Cas.” 

Dean left the bathroom and went to meet Cas halfway. The angel moved much faster than the hunter, though, and they ended up convening in the hallway.

“Dean--is Sam alright?”

“Yeah, he’s good. He went out for the night. How have you been, man? Haven’t heard anything from you.” 

“Heaven’s been messy...I didn’t hear anything from _ you _ . I thought maybe you wanted to be alone.”

“You’re always wanted--I tried calling but. Oh.” Dean stopped his sentence in a moment of realization. “Sam and I were...long story short I prayed to you but I think the place was enchanted. Prolly put a cone of silence on angel-radio.” 

“That would do it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, regardless.” Cas bowed his head almost formally and then replaced his expression with quizzical eyes.

“You seem much improved...Not that it’s not wanted I just--” Cas struggled the same way Sam had; it was hard to balance hope and expectation. 

“I get it--Sam and I went through the whole thing already. I don’t know for sure but I got a loose theory. My body went freakin haywire and screwed me over but I got my voice back. I felt the...the scales you were talking about. I felt them change. In my head. Figured it was some kind of trade off.”

Cas became very worried very quickly and Dean tried to assuage him.

“I think it’s fine, really. Tell me about the mess upstairs.” Dean started for the library and Cas followed, matching Dean’s deliberate, easy pace. 

“Angels are...displaced from their stations you could say. There is a rather corporate greed associated with establishing order and hierarchy. For beings not intended to feel, they certainly can be whiny.” 

Dean gave a pleased chuckle.

“You mean Angels are entitled dicks? Shocker.” Dean raised his eyebrows as he turned to Cas but his face was apologetic. 

Settling in the library, Dean had Cas grab his laptop from the map table where he’d left it. 

“Where’s Sam?” Cas’ tone implicated something more and Dean called him out on it.

“You mean ‘what was so important that Sam left me all alone in my delicate condition’?” 

“No, that’s most certainly  _ not  _ what I was implying.”

“I told him to go out, to have fun. I got him tickets to some cult-museum film-screening thing. He deserved a break.”

Dean opened his computer and mindlessly began scrolling. Accidentally clicking a pop-up, a bright, flashing ad took over his screen and Dean felt his eyes roll back in his head as his neck and shoulders tensed. He stayed conscious this time around though he was unable to stop the micro movements of his facial muscles. As the focal seizure faded, he was able to see Cas more clearly in his view. The angel had placed his hand on his head but whether he’d been the one to stop the seizure, Dean didn’t know. 

“Dean?” Cas’ deep voice resonated in his ears.

“M’Okay.” 

Cas removed his fingers from the hunter’s forehead and sat calmly beside him, still worried. Dean recovered quickly, though, and found himself consoling the angel.

“I know they look bad but I’m good. Really. Was just because of the stupid pop-up.” 

Cas was still quiet, and Dean prompted him into sharing.

“Cas, c’mon, I don’t feel like playing 20 questions. What’s wrong?” 

Castiel turned to look at Dean head on and embarrassingly confessed.

“I saw in your head when I tried to stop the spasm. I wasn’t trying to.”

“Yeah, it’s ok. You got an angel for a best friend and you kinda get used to mi cabeza es su cabeza.” 

“I’m not sure I understand but I appreciate your forgiveness.” 

“Alright, well, spill. Whaddya see?”

“You were right.” The angel confessed.

“You can say that again,” Dean chuckled. 

“You were right.” 

“Not literally--” Dean groaned internally.

“The scales...for lack of a better term… they did change. But not the way I expected.”

“You’re gonna have to try and explain better than that, man.” 

“Say you’re mind is a warehouse--”

“Cas, no offense but these analogies never end up making sense.”

The angel rolled his eyes at the Winchester’s critique and began again. 

“Do you remember when you got stuck in the Trickster’s awful television loop?”

Dean nodded. 

“And the way to get out was to simply play along? To pretend you were capable?”

Dean nodded again. 

“I think Michael…” Dean shuttered at the name. “I think he set up something similar. A way to taunt you.”

“Make me believe that all I have to do is give into it? And when I do it goes away? Cas, there’s no way.”

“It’s just a theory.”

“I think he came in and he used me and knotted up my puppet strings and left.” 

Cas was silent as Dean let out a loud, agitated sigh. 

“Sorry, Cas. It’s not your fault.”

Cas smiled as he took Dean’s computer and closed the blinking ad for him.

“Would you like me to put on  _ Speed _ ?” The angel asked, knowingly. 

“How did--oh. Right. In my head.” Dean shook his head at the realization that the angel had briefly read his mind. 

Nodding in permission, Dean regrettably let Cas take over his computer. With the movie in progress, Dean settled in and enjoyed the fast-paced absurdity. Cas asked a lot of questions but Dean didn't mind answering--still enjoying his ability to speak so freely and easily. Half-way through the movie, Cas was called away to deal with a mini-crisis. Some angel named Zadkiel involved in a stand-off. Dean assured him he’d be fine and with a flap of his invisible wings, he was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. 

Dean continued watching the movie, even if his mind was beginning to wander. He’d spent a lot of hours over the last few months wondering how and why Michael did what he had. Cas’ visit and his changing abilities caused him once again to ask these same questions. A memory surfaced, still raw… the imaginary bar Michael held Dean hostage in--the positivity and complacency he’d used to keep Dean there. It was the second tactic the archangel had used; the one that would have continued working if not for Sam and Cas pulling him out. Michael trapped Dean in a place where he was surrounded by easy choices; an illusion of control. It was the opposite of drowning--of having nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no hope of escape. Dean’s current fate, it seemed, was a combination of both Michael’s tortures; Dean constantly encountered fake choices and decisions about his body and his health, and yet he was still drowning without hope of survival. It was Michael’s last attempt at controlling his perfect vessel should the archangel find a way to come back. 

But Dean had broken out of Michael’s control before. He was determined to do it again. Dean couldn’t bear to consider it much more so he attempted to pull his focus back to the movie at hand. Sandra Bullock was keeping the bus at 50mph and Keanu Reeves was searching for a way to defuse the bomb. Huh. It wasn’t  _ unlike  _ his own situation. Whether he was the bus or the bomb, Sandra or Keanu, he had no idea. Extended metaphors weren’t really his strong suit. But an idea had been planted; hunting the Adlet had caused a massive set-back, yes. But it was temporary. In truth, it was the cause of his greatest improvements. Dean concluded, from his limited observation, that conservative living wasn’t doing him any favors. Maybe he just needed to try and be like...well...himself. Maybe the old adage was true: he had to get worse before he could get better. It was a dangerous thing to believe, though. It was risky business. Maybe it wasn’t the hunt at all--maybe it was just time. Time he and Sam had well-spent. 

An hour passed and the movie ended, Dean checked the time and knew Sam wouldn't be back for a few more hours. He wanted to do something productive so he went to the library with his laptop, scrolling through news reports until he stumbled upon anything remotely case-worthy. Only a couple things caught his interest and he sent the info to a few contacts, Garth included. Still wired, Dean put on  _ Speed 2: Cruise Control,  _ and tried to lose himself yet again in the story. Watching, he couldn’t forget about his earlier analogous question. Was he the bus or the bomb? Logic told him he was the bus--the thing at risk of destruction. But a nagging part of him wondered if he  _ wasn’t _ the thing that risked destruction. 

And then it hit him.

Michael.

The crack in the door.

His failing body. 

He reached for the extra cell, desperate to talk to Sam. But he paused before dialing. Sam was having fun.  _ Let him have the night.  _

He toyed with his idea for the next few hours and found no fault in logic. 

He would wait to hear what Sam thought, and Cas’ opinion, but Dean Winchester, for the first time in a long time, felt like might have answers. 


	10. Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dean is slowly getting better but my explanation as to why get a little muddled… 
> 
> If you’re looking for a really clear plot, I think it best to quote my good friend Edward Cullen: I hope you enjoy disappointment. 

Dean was high on adrenaline; his theory making more sense by the hour. He didn’t know if this theory meant that any action could be taken, but it opened new possibilities. He was too jittery to sit and opted for doing laps around the bunker instead. His leg was unappreciative of his movements but he didn’t care. Dean began formulating more conspiracies as time passed, and Sam’s arrival could not have seemed further off. Still, Dean didn’t want to ruin Sam’s night. Maybe he’d wait til tomorrow to share. Yeah right. Sam would smell it on him the second he got home; Dean wasn’t known for his patience. 

After what felt like an eternity, Dean heard distant noises and breathed a sigh of relief that Sam was finally home; if he had to wait to share his theory any longer, he might explode. Beginning the arduous walk to the map room, Dean tried to calm his nerves and remember that Sam didn’t need to be accosted with stress. Dean took a few deep breaths and for the first time ever, actually tried planning on what he was going to say. 

The sound of the door opening actually scared him a little he was so lost in thought. He was still a couple turns from the map room and knew that Sam would make it down the steps before he got there. 

“Sam?” Dean called, altering his brother that he was awake and safe.

“Hey, you finally woke up?” Sam shouted his reply a bit too loudly, clearly not knowing exactly how far away Dean was.

“Yeah. Cas came by for a bit.” 

Dean finally emerged in the map room and noted Sam dropping a plastic bag onto the table.

“Gift shop?” Dean mocked, smiling.

“Research.” Sam defended. 

“Yuh-huh.” Dean’s sarcastic sound made Sam snort and he confessed more information.

“They had transcripts of the footage. I got it for our archives.” Sam turned a little red with embarrassment but Dean loved that he was genuinely smiling about something. Even if that something was geeky. 

“So what did Cas have to say?” Sam sat as he spoke, removing items from his bag.

“Not much...Heaven’s a cluster…” 

Sam’s head snapped upwards at a strange twinge in Dean’s tone.

“What?” He inquired, swallowing thickly. 

“Cas and I were talking...about the scales. In my head. And I started thinking.” 

Sam sat up straight in his chair, not knowing where this was going. 

“Sam. What if we’ve been thinking about this wrong? About me. About the scales. About M-Michael...”

Sam, fearing the worst, thought that Dean was entering a depressive, suicidal state. 

“Dean, you’ve been doing so well---” 

Dean held his hand up to stop Sam and instead sat across from him, head shaking. 

“No, no, Sam I know. Just hear me out, okay?” 

Sam nodded and sat back in his chair, trying to lessen his worry. 

“This whole time we’ve been thinking that I’ve been trying to recover from Michael. That my body is holding onto him somehow. Kinda like what happened to Nick after Lucifer … But what if the opposite is true? What if  _ Michael _ is holding onto  _ me _ ? Like he found a way to leave his hooks in, in case he ever needed to come back…”

Sam knitted his brow and pinched his eyes together as he tried to process. It was beyond difficult to try and shift the beliefs they’d had for so long. 

“You’re saying the crack Michael left...it was a crack in  _ him  _ as much as in  _ you _ ? Like the part of him he left in you is what? A horcrux kinda thing?”

“I don't know what that last part means, but sure. The part of Michael’s grace that got left behind---the thing that’s causing all this...We’ve assumed that it's desperately kicking and fighting to take hold of me, to drag me under. And the seizures and pain and everything wrong with me is because of that---Michael fighting me. But what if he’s not the one pushing back, what if it’s me?” 

Dean let out a huge breath and felt his tension drain away as he was finally able to share his theory. Sam was still struggling to catch up; he hadn’t had hours to think this over the way Dean did.

“Dean, if this was true wouldn’t Cas have seen it? I mean, hell, he  _ did _ see it---he said there was a trace of Micahel’s grace left over, he said it was the thing making you sick.”

“I don’t think what Cas saw was wrong, but I think he  _ interpreted  _ it wrong. He made it seem earlier that he thinks it’s some kind of diversion, as if Michael’s not the direct cause, like a loophole or something. What if Michael’s not playing offense? What if he’s on the defensive? Sam, I think my  _ body’s _ on the offensive trying to beat back Michael’s grace.” Dean stopped babbling and proposed a new way of thinking about it. “Sam, it’s like a fever...I’m fighting a virus and my body has to hurt itself in order to kill the bigger-bad. I think my very stupid, very human immune system is treating his grace like a pathogen. It’s doing everything it can to force it out. It explains why Cas’ grace does jack when he tries to heal me---my body rejects it because it recognizes it as an enemy.” 

Sam had to admit that if he was understanding this correctly, it  _ was  _ an entirely new perspective. Still, he’d need to give it more thought. Beyond that, he had to consider what implications Dean’s theory had. If this was true--and that was a big if--what was there to do about it? Could Michael’s grace be removed? Was there any guarantee that would solve the problem? Cas had said before that he’d seen a trace of Michael’s power left in Dean. But what if Dean was right...what if his soul wasn’t playing defense, what if it was playing offense? What if all his symptoms were ways that his body was combating a larger issue? What bigger issue could there be? There were too many questions, and more importantly, there were too many risks. Sam looked up at Dean and was met with a different pair of green eyes than he’d been expecting. They were still his brother’s eyes, yes, but they were bright with hope. 

“C’mon, Sam. It’s our best theory.” Dean was desperate for Sam to be on board. 

“It’s our  _ only  _ theory, that doesn’t make it the best” He countered. 

“Sure it does!” 

“I’m not sure I even get what you’re saying. How does that change anything? Any way you look at it, it seems like Michael’s grace is still inside and it’s hurting you.” Sam admitted, a little defeated. 

Dean wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to excite his brother as he tried to summarize his point. 

“Look, I know we’ve been batting zero for months. And I know Cas has looked inside my head plenty of times and we’ve had ideas and conspiracies before. All I’m saying is that maybe we’ve been inventing motives to fit the evidence. We’ve thought that this shred of Michael has been disrupting the mental scales Cas keeps talking about, right?” Dean looked for affirmation that Sam was following and his brother nodded in silent response. “That little sliver of his power has been keeping my scales unbalanced---throwing my body into panic mode. But what if Michael’s grace is the thing  _ keeping _ me balanced? What if my mind is trying to get him out and the only way to do that is to jack the scales so out of balance that he doesn’t have a hold anymore.”

Sam’s face contorted in further confusion. 

“You’re saying...the piece of Michael’s power still inside you...instead of that being the thing throwing you  _ out  _ of balance, it’s the thing forcing you to  _ stay _ balanced?”

“Yahtzee.” 

“So your seizures and your pain...aren’t because of Michael? Not directly at least?”

“Think about it. Angel grace heals, for one, and two, Michael learned that keeping me content was the best way to make me his bitch. Why would he leave me so broken? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless he’s not the thing causing it. That trace of him is trying to keep me content---trying to keep my scales in order. The part of me that wants to fight back, to make sure he’s gone for good---that part of me is doing everything it can to shake him. So it’s trying to tip the scales. That’s why I’m all over the place...good days, bad days, spasms, headaches, you name it. My body’s doing everything it can to toss that little piece of Michael out---to get  _ me  _ back to  _ me _ .”

“So with that… you’re bad days are actually you’re good days? The days you feel like crap are the days you’re closest to shaking Michael?”

“I have no idea. Not yet. We got a lot to think about and a lot to run by Cas.”

Sam opened his eyes wide. 

“Dean.” Sam began with a saddened tone and let his head drop. “I’m all for seeing this through, I am. But what if we’re seeing things that just aren’t there? Dean, maybe you’re getting better on your own. Maybe we shouldn’t push too hard on this.”

Dean rubbed his head with his hand and shifted his weight back and forth. 

“We’ll give it a few days. See how I’m doing. Cas can come and look at me and we’ll get his opinion, okay?”

Sam nodded and yawned, covering his mouth with a fist. 

“Go to bed, dork” Dean gestured to the hallway and waved Sam away. 

“Night. And Dean? Thanks for tonight.”

Dean nodded and Sam walked to the door. 

“Oh and get me--” Sam began.

“Get you if I need. I know, Sam.” Dean sighed. “You know  _ you _ can get  _ me _ too.”

Sam smiled. 

“Yeah. I’ve known that for 36 years.” 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

_ “You don’t have to read my mind/ To know what I have in mind/ Honey you oughta know…” _

Dean’s off-key singing funneled down the hallway and interrupted Sam’s sleep. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at his bedside clock; it was almost one in the afternoon. Bolting upright, he wondered how it was possible he could have slept this long. Standing and changing immediately, he went to yell at Dean. Sam’s brother was still in the shower and he pounded on the bathroom door, stopping the cheerful singing.

“Dean, what the hell? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Dean coughed and spoke loudly so that he could be heard over the water.

“Relax, groucho. You needed the rest. Besides, it’s not like we have anything going on.”

“You know I hate oversleeping.” Sam was still upset, and clearly not letting this go.

“Yeah well then you should have set an alarm.” Dean snapped right back, not having it.

Responding, Sam’s tone was dripping with passive aggression and sarcasm. 

“Thank you, that’s really helpful.” 

“What bug is up your ass today? Why the hell are you so pissed off?” Dean lost all humor.

Sam considered the question for a minute and realized there was no good response. 

“I don’t know.” 

He sighed his overly dramatic sigh and stepped away from the bathroom door, walking towards the kitchen. 

The taller man contemplated his temperament as me moved through the bunker and reflected on the conversation he and Dean had last night. The implications of the theory were clear now that he’d had a night to think on it. If what Dean proposed was true, it meant that in order to heal, Dean had to get worse. Much worse. They needed to wait and let the proverbial fever break—the very thing they’d been trying to stave off this whole time. Half a year and all Sam had done was ensure that Dean was adhering to every possible drug regiment, every physical therapy exercises, every routine that would cause the least amount of aggravation. If what Dean proposed was true, then all of Sam’s efforts had been impeding his healing all along. 

Floored, Sam sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. How could this have happened? How could they have ended up here? But Sam Winchester took charge of his own emotions; he might have to experience pain and suffering, trauma and guilt, but he didn’t have to suffer. He had to deal, yes, but he didn’t have to let it eat him. Closing his eyes and pushing his hair away from his face, he remembered Jody’s words to him.  _ You’re a good brother, Sam. And a good man.  _

Michael was not his fault.

Dean’s condition was not his fault.

Monsters and darkness and danger were not. his. fault. 

It took tremendous energy for the youngest Winchester to convince himself of these truths, but he knew that if he stayed the course he was on---if he kept feeling responsible for every moment---then it would end in catastrophe. That wasn’t fair to Cas. It wasn’t fair to Dean. It wasn’t fair to himself. Sam chuckled internally at a memory from weeks ago---from one of Dean’s particularly bad days. Dean had pointed out (accused, really) that Sam was beginning to act like him. And Sam had known this, on some level, to be true. It was ironic, then, to consider that perhaps Sam’s spiral into guilt and darkness was just another way he was adopting his brother’s disposition.  _ Great.  _ In any case, Sam was done living stagnantly. He wasn’t intending to make any rash decisions, to drastically change or reinvent himself...he just wanted to feel like his life was  _ his  _ again. He wanted the same for his brother. The first step, he hoped, was getting Cas’ opinion on the new hypothesis; maybe he’d have a better sense, or a new perspective. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Sitting in the “Fortress of Dean-itude,” the brothers had on a mindless game show that they had both become much too invested in. 

“What?!” Sam’s voice cracked as his pitch rose in disbelief. “Why would you make an offer now? That’s the worst possible decision.” 

Dean bowed his head in silent embarrassment and pretended that he wouldn’t have done  _ exactly  _ what the contestant just had. 

“Guy’s a freakin idiot.” Dean made a face that mimicked Sam’s expression of disgust. 

Cutting to commercial, the tense moment of the show was easily forgotten and new topics introduced. 

“You wanna call Cas? See if he wants to come hear the new theory?” Sam offered his comment casually, looking at his phone the whole time. 

“He seemed pretty uptight about the mess in Heaven. Let’s give him another day.” As he answered, Dean stood from the chair and made his way to the back wall, opening and digging through a drawer. 

He returned with three batteries and picked up the faulty remote, turning it over in his hand. He wedged the batteries, one by one, into the small compartment. By the end, his one good hand was shaking. He kept calm, not knowing what the cause may have been; sometimes, it was just a reaction to being overworked. Sitting back down, his hooked arm gave an unexpected clench and he let out a breath. 

Sam tensed and his instinct told him to ask Dean what the sound was in reaction to. Taking another breath, Sam gave himself a silent lecture.  _ Dean’s fine. There’s nothing for you to feel bad about. He’ll tell you if he wants something.  _ Despite the fact that he hated having to lecture himself like this, it was helping. If Dean felt like he was okay on his own, then Sam should feel that way too. Maybe what Dean really needed, what they  _ both  _ really needed, was to get back to being themselves. 

“So…” Sam began, struggling to find something to talk about that didn’t include Michael but Dean interjected before Sam could propose a conversation. 

“Why do you think Scooby never demands more than just two Scooby snacks?” Dean stared into space as he absentmindedly clicked through the channels, game show forgotten. 

“What?” Sam was thrown by the left-field question.

“Every time he gets asked to do something he says he’s too scared. And then Daphne or Velma will hold up the box and taunt him with it. But every time he gives in too soon. Why can’t he bargain for the whole box?”

“Dean, he’s a talking dog…”

“Exactly! He  _ can,  _ he just  _ doesn’t. _ Scoob needs to learn the art of persuasion.” 

“I think you mean extortion.”

“ _ They’re _ forcing  _ him  _ into the creepy places. It’s compensation.”

“So you’re telling me if I bribed you to go down some dank, rancid spelling tunnel with only  _ one slice  _ of pie, you wouldn’t go? You’d stand there and barter for a  _ whole  _ pie?” Sam’s face turned youthful for a moment, his eyes brighter, and his smirk more innocent. 

Dean knitted his eyebrows together---he knew he’d been had by Sam’s logic.

“Well I might die in that tunnel! I’m not gonna waste my time haggling, I gotta enjoy life’s little pleasure when I can...I’m not in the position to look a gift horse in the mouth!”

Sam smirked a bitchy little smile and Dean mock defended himself further.

“Scooby’s a freakin cartoon of course he’s not gonna die! He has the luxury of demanding another Scooby Snack. End of discussion.” Dean pouted and leaned back in his chair, arm still tense. While Sam continued making noises of satisfaction, Dean went unusually silent and stared blankly at the television. 

Sam observed Dean for another moment before concluding that his brother was momentarily lost to conscious thought. The absent seizure, as wrong as it sounded, was good fortune. For Dean, it usually consisted of a few moments of foggy thought, and he was right back to normal. It was truly the least of all their evils; Sam was pleased that their upward trend seemed to be continuing. Sam sat in silence until he noted his brother’s eyes blink, and his head begin turning. Knowing that waking up to silence would likely only confuse him more, Sam spoke gently, casually, and without expectation of response. 

“Hey. Dean. We were watching a game show, and then we started talking about Scooby Doo… You said you wanted to give Cas another day in Heaven before calling him back down here but to be honest I’m getting a little impatient.” 

Dean turned his head to Sam, conscious again. 

“I tuned out there for a minute, didn’t I?”

“It was a really short one. We were just talking.”

“Scooby Doo?” Dean clarified.

Sam nodded with a laugh and stood from his chair, hovering over Dean. Sam  _ was  _ going to stop panicking over everything. He  _ was  _ going to get back to normal. But he couldn’t adjust instantaneously. 

Baby steps. 

So rather than waiting for Dean to ask him, Sam volunteered to stretch out his bad hand; the one that had clearly been hurting all day. 

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s offer but accepted. 

“It’s really fine, Sam.” Dean argued. 

“I know. But I can’t go from sixty to zero in one day. I know you want your space and your freedom and I want that too. For both of us. But how impossible was it for you to just walk away when I was detoxing?”

“Yeah, okay. Point made.” Dean grumbled as Sam gently extended each of his fingers away from his palm and pulled muscles Dean didn’t know he had. 

“So we’ll wait on Cas and then just see what his thoughts are?” Sam asked, impatience peaking through.

“I guess.”

“Isn’t he gonna see the same thing, though? It’s still all just a product of Michael’s grace.”

“Don’t think he’ll see anything different. I just want us to think about it in a new way. Maybe that’ll give us some fresh ideas.”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Dean was still picking up on Sam’s hesitance...resistance....something that was off. 

“Sam. You’re being weird about this whole thing. What’s going on?”

Sam sighed and didn’t beat around the bush; he didn’t have the energy to.

“I told myself that I wasn’t gonna worry anymore. I mean, of course I’ll worry. But I don’t want it to stop us from living anymore. You on that hunt? Me? Dean, that was the best time we’ve had in months. And I know what the consequences of that were. But part of me doesn’t care. And I feel like crap for thinking that way. But I’m gonna forgive myself...it’s just gonna take me a little longer to hop on board with stuff, that’s all.”

Dean nodded, taking a moment to process all that had been said. 

“I know you know this. But I also know you need to hear it. From me. Sam?” 

Sam looked at Dean, eyes wide. 

“None of this is your fault.” 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Two days back home and the boys were restless. With Dean so much better, the nothingness that existed in the bunker was beginning to eat away at them. Dean had already cleaned Baby twice over. (Unfortunately, there was a messy incident resulting from bad coordination and a slippery hose but the resulting sight of Dean soaking wet and covered in bubbles left Sam holding his abdomen in hysterical laughter.) Sam had been pouring over the transcripts from the Sayer House event he’d gone to and adding the documents to the library’s files. Dean called back a hunter from Montana, Katie, who’d had an unexpected run in with a Djinn. T’s crossed and I’s dotted, Sam and Dean were struggling to find activities to pass the time. Sam was anxious to call Cas, but Dean insisted that Cas had his hands full with angel drama. Sam knew that Dean was as desperate as he was, but something was holding him back. Perhaps it was simply that he didn’t want to be needy. Then again, maybe Dean was slowly drifting away from the depreciation for answers. It had been nearly 48 hours since he’d had any kind of seizure, his mobility was about as smooth as it could be, and he appeared to be in little pain. It was more than plausible that Dean simply didn’t want to ruin a good thing. But (as is always true), all good things end badly, or else they wouldn’t end. 

Sam didn’t know what set his brother off, but whatever it was, it was bad. Dean slammed his bedroom door and violent sounds echoed down the hallway. It was clear that Dean was physically safe, so Sam left him alone. He wondered what possibly could have gone so wrong--what could have ruined Dean’s mood so rapidly. Answers unexpectedly came from his vibrating phone. A text message from an unknown number appeared on Sam’s screen and he opened it curiously. As he read, new messages flooded in.

_ Hey, Sam. I hope this is still your number. This is Nikki--we met about eight years ago in Utah on a poltergeist.  _

_ I fell off the grid for a while but am getting back in the swing of things. I texted your brother.  _

_ I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.  _

Sam responded, remembering her well--she had been kind and energetic, a little loud but always well-intentioned. 

_ Hi Nikki. This is still my number. Good to hear from you.  _

Bubbles indicated she was typing back, and Sam waited for her new message.

_ I haven't been in contact with any hunters for the past couple of years. I had no idea who was even still alive, let alone the state of things.  _

Sam, still searching for answers about Dean, prompted Nikki. 

_ It’s okay. Not your fault. Did you say something to Dean? Did you guys have a falling out before or something?  _

There was a lag in response and Sam swallowed thickly, wondering what old baggage might have been brought up. But soon enough, new messages from Nikki came through and Dean’s reactions made more and more sense. 

_ Dean and I had a few long weekends...if you know what I mean. Eventually hunting got in the way, I fell off the map… _

_ I wanted to reconnect...see if you two were still alive and kicking. Dean and I were talking and… _

_ … _

_ I asked if he’d want to see me again. I made a stupid joke about our...relations...from before.  _

_ Sam, I swear I had no idea what happened to him. I never would have said what I did the  _ _ way  _ _ that I said it.  _

Even without all the details (details Sam didn’t even want to know), he understood what had happened. Nikki must have felt awful, and Sam wanted her to know that she didn’t need to feel guilty. He knew Dean wasn’t even mad at her--he was just so upset by the facts of the situation. 

_ Nikki, you couldn’t possibly have known. It’s okay, I promise. Dean’s not angry with you. The situation sucks but we all just have to roll with the punches, deal with what we’ve got. _

Sam sent his massage, and read her reply. 

_ Just tell him I’m sorry. And that…  _

_ I’m sorry to rope you into this, I’m sure you don't want to hear it _

_ But tell him the offer still stands. Regardless.  _

Sam was unphased but the intimate nature of the conversation, and instead was hopeful that Dean might be able to get over the hurdle.

_ I will. Thanks, Nikki.  _

With that, Sam pocketed his phone and waited to see if and when Dean would emerge from his room. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Two hours later and Dean was still locked away. At this point, Sam was unable to distance himself any longer and he walked down to Dean’s room and knocked on the door. 

“Dean?” 

There was a beat of silence, but Sam had yet to panic. Finally, Dean’s curt voice replied.

“I’m fine, Sam.”

Not knowing how to proceed, Sam was quiet. He was surprised when shuffling behind the door indicated that Dean was coming to greet him. Door opening, Dean walked past Sam, and headed towards the library. Trailing him, the little brother followed behind as Dean spoke.

“We worked a case with a hunter named Nikki years ago. She and I had a thing. On and off but enough that… … she was a friend.” Dean took a breath and Sam tried to stifle his surprise at Dean’s willingness to talk. “She texted me earlier. Wanted to see if we were still alive, what we had going on. I didn’t tell her about me. Not right away. And she asked if--” Dean cut himself off and opened a new sentence. “She wondered if I was still... _ interested.  _ In the relationship we used to have.” 

Dean stopped talking as he worked on climbing the couple of steps up to the library.

“I told her. About me. And it was really hard to do that, Sam. It was just really fucking hard.” 

Dean spoke dryly, but in the beat of silence that followed his confession, the ghost of a fake smile forced itself onto his face. 

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say, ‘that’s what she said.’” 

Sam raised his eyebrows as if to sarcastically say ‘very funny.’ Rather than directly respond, he decided to confess that he’d spoken to Nikki himself. 

“She texted me. Nikki. She wanted me to check in with you.” 

Dean rolled his eyes.

“She always did worry too much.” Dean sighed.

“She says she’s sorry. And that ‘her offer still stands.’” 

Dean let out a held breath and eased himself into a chair; Sam followed suit. 

“Nikki. Branch. Talk about old memories…” Dean became lost in a silent flood of reminances and Sam attempted to prod him in the right direction.

“Could make some new ones…” Sam was shy in his offer, but not backing down.

“No, no, nooo. Sam. Stop. I’m not doing this with you.” 

“What??” Sam’s voice broke in mock confusion despite knowing precisely what Dean was getting at. 

“We’re not having that discussion. I’m not doing a therapy session with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because the thought of  _ you _ encouraging  _ me _ to have sex makes my skin crawl.”

“It doesn’t have to be about that--”

“Yeah. But it is. And I’m not talking about my sex life with  _ you.” _

Sam knew there was nothing more to do. Nothing to say. It was something that Dean had to figure out himself, and Sam had to accept that. 

“I’ll text Nikki, alright? I’ll tell her I’m not mad. Let’s just let this go and find a case or something.”

Sam nodded and pulled out his laptop, looking productive. He wasn’t sure if Dean intended to find a case for them, or for another hunter, but this wasn’t the moment to ask. 

An hour in, they’d mostly come up dry...a few weak leads in distant states was all they had: a possible haunting in Maine...maybe a shifter in Washington. It was far from sufficient.

Giving up, Sam stood to stretch and noted that Dean had drifted off to sleep. Despite his improvements, it was good that he was still getting enough rest. Sam quietly made his way to the kitchen and put a pot of water on, planning on making pasta. Going through absent motions, Sam’s mind wandered to further considering the cause of Dean’s issues. 

Michael’s grace was embedded in Dean’s soul and it was disrupting the natural order. That part was obvious enough. 

The next question was whether or not the natural balance would be restored if Michael’s grace were to be expelled--and if that meant that Dean would go back to being healthy. 

Finally, he considered Dean’s most recent idea: in order to expel the remnants of Michael, his body was making him sick. Thus, they needed to stop trying to cure the condition. Like a fever, they needed to let it run its course in hopes that Michael’s grace is destroyed, and Dean gets better. 

If any of that was true, then how did it explain Dean’s good and bad phases? Were his good days the days Michael was most in control? Was it the opposite? This was one part of the theory that Sam did not yet have answers for. This is why they needed Cas...if the angel could look inside Dean and  _ know what to look for _ then maybe he could help. Sam recalled being trapped in Dean’s head with Michael---the terror and helplessness that he felt. Sam wondered if part of that feeling had stayed with Dean...if Michael intended that fear to keep Dean weak. 

Interrupting Sam’s contemplation was the distant sound of labored movements. Departing from the kitchen immediately, Sam headed for the library where he’d left Dean sleeping. Still in the chair, Dean was unconscious but clearly having a nightmare. Covered in a sheen of sweat and mumbling under his breath, Sam could only make out one word: Michael. 

Desperate to wake his brother, Sam firmly grabbed Dean’s shoulders and shook them hard in a single motion. 

“Dean! Wake up!” 

With no change, Sam tried again, shaking harder this time. 

“DEAN! You’re in a dream! Wake up!” 

Abruptly, Dean’s eyes shot open and he launched himself from the chair, practically knocking Sam to the ground. He began coughing violently and struggled to catch his breath. Dripping in sweat and practically vibrating with tension, Dean was very clearly in distress.

“Hey, heyheyhey, HEY!” Sam attempted to snap his brother from the throws of his nightmare. 

Responding to Sam’s commanding tone, Dean’s panic began to subdue; his breathing resumed a somewhat normal rhythm and he closed his eyes in a quasi-meditative state. 

“Good. Just breathe. Was just a dream.” 

Dean still had his eyes closed, but was intently listening to Sam. He shook his head lightly, and wrinkled his forehead. 

“N-n’t j-just a d’rm.”  _ Not just a dream. _

Sam’s heart thumped arrhythmically in his chest at Dean’s words; both the content of the sentence, and its delivery. 

“The scales?” Sam’s voice was thick with concern. 

Dean nodded. 

“T-ime t’ c’all Cas.” 

**A/N: As always--thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for all your kind words**


	11. Decision Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Cas are forced to decide how they want to proceed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’d be lying if I said the Supernatural finale didn’t mess me up. I’ve been struggling to write this in the wake of the show’s end for so many reasons but I am committed to continuing. This chapter is not the longest and not the best, but I’m doing what I can. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to be invested and enjoys reading this story...it means so much, even more now that the show is over. 
> 
> NOTICE: PLEASE SEE ENDNOTES for a brief update on some upcoming projects. 

**A/N: NOTICE** : PLEASE SEE ENDNOTES for a brief update on some upcoming projects. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Castiel sat at the kitchen table still mulling things over. The brothers had presented him with the idea that perhaps Michael’s ruin wasn’t presenting in physical manifestations. Perhaps Dean’s condition was not caused by Michael’s grace directly, but rather a human side effect of his mere presence. The question on the angel’s mind---on Sam’s mind---on Dean’s mind---was the same; If Michael’s grace wasn’t causing Dean’s disabilities, what _was_ it doing? 

Verbalizing, Cas spoke to both Winchesters and shared his initial thoughts on the matter. 

“Dean…if this is true, then it means that _your_ body--- _not Michael_ \---is causing your problems.”

“Exactly. Which means there’s something we can do about it. Maybe I have to stop acting like my problems are my _problems_. Maybe they’re the solution. What if I stop taking my meds? Stop trying to get better? Just let my body do whatever it’s gotta do to get Michael out.”

Dean was borderline ecstatic, Sam held onto hesitancy, and Cas was burdened by fear. 

“Or…” Cas began, “It means that Michael’s grace is the only thing keeping you alive.”

Cas’ visage fell in sympathy and he waited for them to process his words. 

“What---What does that _mean_?” Sam asked. 

“I fear that Michael made your very existence a Catch 22. His last punishment. You can never truly heal with his fragment of grace left behind, and yet without him, you succumb to his damages permanently.”

The looks on the boys’ faces could have moved any angel into falling for them; Cas desperately attempted to remind them of his unsuredness. 

“Dean, the truth is I have no idea what’s going on. Your guess is as good as mine. It could just as well be that the opposite is true---that in time, your body _will_ force Michael’s grace out.” 

Dean shook his head and stood from the table, seemingly unable to look at either his brother, or his friend. Unspeaking, Dean limped out of the kitchen and down the hall to his room. He heard the distant mumblings of Sam’s attempts to convince Cas not to follow, and was relieved that no footsteps trailed him. 

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let himself have the very hope he swore he wouldn’t fall victim to? Pathetic. He was pathetic, and idiotic, and weak. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ A fucking imbecile. So desperate to believe that there was a light at the end of this tunnel, he’d convinced himself that if he only endured a little longer, then maybe he’d have earned a break. If he suffered badly enough, maybe he’d be pardoned. 

But it couldn’t work like that.

Why would it?

When does _anything_ go right for a Winchester?

Truthfully, Dean didn’t have the energy for violence. Much as he wanted to smash his mirror and break down his door, he couldn’t bring himself to expend the energy necessary for such destruction. Besides, it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t make his leg stop aching. It wouldn’t heal his inoperative arm. It wouldn’t stop his seizures or make him feel any more like the man he had been. He couldn’t bring himself to anything other than just _exist,_ so he sat silently and unmoving, focusing on breathing in and out.

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Hours passed with Dean still locked away in his room. Cas refused to leave the bunker until he’d had a chance to make things right… to convince Dean that he was far from prophetic. His theories were as baseless as anything else, and he needed to assure them that his earlier commentary was not intended to sound as hopelessly finite as he feared he had. Sam was surprisingly well-adjusted; he immediately launched himself into another round of research. Despite appearances, Cas knew that it was merely a facade; a coping mechanism that only appeared healthy. 

“Sam,” Cas began, “I don’t know. I really, truly don’t. It’s just as likely that something positive could come of this.”

“Yeah. Because we have such a great track record of things going our way.”

“I didn’t mean to cause alarm. I thought---I thought you were pressing me for all possibilities.”

“We were. It’s not your fault.” Sam’s body folded in the chair as he spoke. 

“ _Fault_ seems to be a very popular word around here these days.” Cas confessed. 

Sam nodded borderline shamefully which only added to the irony of the situation. Recognizing that, Sam released a held breath and stood. As he moved, he deliberately spoke to Cas. 

“I’m going to get Dean.”

The angel was quick to interject.

“Sam, you said it was best to give him space.”

“It probably is. But I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not gonna sit here and feel sorry. I’m gonna drag my brother’s ass out of his room, and the three of us are gonna make a plan. I don’t care if we decide to do nothing, or we start making cosmic phone calls. Either way we’re not just gonna _stop._ ” 

Speech completed, Cas waited nervously for the return of one (or both) the brothers. As it turns out, he wouldn’t have to wait very long for an indication of how things were going. First, he heard a slamming of a door. Followed by rather demanding knocking, curt tones, and eventually, full-fledged shouting. Despite being a hallway and many rooms away, Cas still made out the most heated part of their argument. 

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR YOUR HELP” Dean retorted to a previously unheard statement. 

“NO. YOU DIDN’T. BECAUSE I MAKE SURE YOU NEVER HAVE TO.” Sam yelled back.

“WELL IT LOOKS LIKE I’M GONNA DIE ANYWAY, SO CONSIDER YOUR BURDEN LIFTED.” 

Dean’s final remark left the bunker ringing in silence and Cas couldn’t help but cringe at the harshness of the words exchanged. Part of him wondered how they’d managed to get to that point---how much hurt must have occurred in the former part of the conversation. Then again, answers wouldn’t help the situation. Interrupting the silence was Dean’s pained tone, slightly quieter than before. 

“Just go, Sam”

Cas awaited the approach of Sam’s footsteps, but they never came. Rather, Sam’s firm tone refused his brother’s request. 

“No. I’m not leaving until you get over this.”

“THERE’S NOTHING TO GET OVER! This is ME, Sam. And it’s gonna be me forever. Case closed. Game over. Me. Like this. Until I die.” Dean’s voice cracked but Sam didn’t let up. 

“WHAT’S SO _WRONG_ WITH THAT?” Despite how absurd the question sounded, Sam was getting at a larger point. “You’re suffering, Dean. I’m not ignoring that. You’re in hell. You think I don’t know? But that’s not the problem. The problem is that you hate yourself.” 

“I don’t think that, Sam! I don’t.”

“Then you’re scared. You’re scared you won’t be able to find a rhythm again. But you will. We will. You killed the Adlet, you got back your voice. You’re stronger and healthier and---”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve looked in the mirror and seen myself?” 

Sam remained quiet. 

“Do you know that it was only a few days ago that I stopped being disgusted at the sound of my own voice?” Dean’s voice hiccuped. “Do you know that it’s been months since I had a dream without Michael? How long it’s been since I’ve had a drink? How long it’s been since I’ve had the courage to even think about sex? For how long I’ve felt like the biggest burden you could possibly have?” 

Cas knew that it was wrong of him to be listening, but he cared for them too much to walk away. He longed to intervene---to attempt and assuage their sadness. But he knew it would be in vain. 

Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The angel couldn’t quite make out Sam’s response, though he was sure he heard the younger man’s voice. Perhaps this was a necessary hurdle...a conversation which appeared harmful, but in truth was something productive. Cas ceased hearing voices-- their tones dropping. While he still heard noise, he was now unable to distinguish clear sounds. Remaining where he was, Cas nervously awaited a future he had no hope of predicting. 

Answering his silent ponderings, Sam _and_ Dean appeared in the doorway. 

“Sorry I stormed off like that. Not your fault, Cas.” Dean took a hesitant step and sat across from the angel.

“No need for apologies. And as I said--” 

“You’re just guessing. We know. It’s okay.” Sam interrupted and he soon took a seat himself. “If this were a case---a hunt---we’d see it through. All the way. No rock unturned, no loose end untied. If we’re gonna beat this then we’re gonna need a gameplan. And I don’t care what that plan looks like, I honestly don’t. But we need something because--” 

Sam was interrupted by his brother’s low voice. 

“Because this is like Purgatory.”

Sam and Cas alike were thrown by Dean’s interjection. Without prompting, Dean continued to elaborate. 

“Not being able to think ahead. We’re living minute by minute...hour by hour...day by day...that’s how we’ve been dealing with _me_ \---with this _thing...”_ Dean corrected himself mid-sentence. He attempted to remind himself that _he_ was not the problem. 

“We’ve been going in circles trying to get ahead and instead we just keep replaying the same old moves. And it’s worked for us this far, it has. And I’m---I can’t--” Dean struggled to keep up with his own feelings. “I don’t want to be stuck like this. Feeling like I’m so close and never quite there.”

Sam’s brow raised slightly.

“So you want… …?” Sam struggled to speak.

“I don’t want to leave it alone anymore. I wanna kick it in the ass.” Dean smiled an indignant, dedicated smile and Sam’s face shadowed his brothers. 

“Where do we start?” Cas posed.

The angel asked his question with great hope and honesty. And so the three men began plotting a strategy. A strategy--of which there were sure to be many--to get Dean better. And in truth, it didn’t matter what ‘better’ _looked_ like, so long as they _felt_ it.

( ) ( ) ( ) 

The three men had settled on multiple plans; each had varying degrees of foreseeable risk and reward. Dean had final say. Always. He was the one to decide that he wanted to be proactive---he wanted to start taking control, taking risks, and hopefully gaining back some autonomy. Anything that could make him feel like he had power over his own body, his own mind, his own fate. Dean was lying when he said he wasn’t scared. Of course he was scared. Anything different than the routines they’d been following might lead to a worser of two evils. As Dean saw it though, things were already collapsing. The Adlet hunt had proven to him (and to Sam) that Dean’s condition followed no rules. There was no predicting what might come next, what might fail, or what might succeed. All Dean knew was that he wanted to start doing things he _wanted,_ rather than avoiding them because of _what if..._

_“What if”_ prevented him from driving.

" _What if”_ prevented him from drinking.

“ _What if”_ prevented him from sex.

“ _What if”_ prevented him from hunting.

All in all, “ _what if”_ prevented him from living. 

_If I drive, maybe I’ll crash._

_If I drink, maybe it’ll mix badly with the drugs_

_If I have sex, maybe I’ll embarrass myself._

_If I hunt, maybe I’ll die._

These questions and answers plagued the Winchesters daily; Dean, quite frankly, was sick of the silent dialogue. On the up-side, Dean had only recently been toying with these problems because he now had the mental and physical energy to do so. Months ago he didn’t have the ability to lament about sex or hunting becuase he was too focused on tasks like breathing and sitting. So in a way, Dean and Sam both recognized that the restless desperation they felt for improvement was, in fact, a result of the tremendous progress they’d already achieved. 

Today, at Dean’s request, Cas was going to look inside his head. Dean hoped that once the angel had been able to properly situate himself in the hunter’s mind, they could work on finding each other's blind spots. What could Dean feel that Cas didn’t? What could Cas see that Dean wasn’t aware of? Team Free Will hoped that after some taxing mental work, they’d be able to all get on the same page. So Dean sat at the library table, Cas standing above him, and Sam sat at his side. The picture was reminiscent of a similar event from a year earlier; when Cas brought forward Dean’s memories of Michael---the angel’s hand touching the spear’s scar. So much had happened since that moment; a lifetime’s worth of change. And yet, the three of them looked exactly the same as they had. Even Dean. So when the short-haired hunter gave the go-ahead, Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s head and Dean gave a small shrug under his hands. 

“Are you alright?” The angel asked.

“So far…” Dean replied. 

The hunter squirmed a little, but Cas was too busy wading through the many layers of his mind to worry about it. If something was truly wrong, then Dean or Sam would intervene. 

Cas poured over every corner and crack, every turn and bend, every summit and peak. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but he hoped that if he found something useful, he would know. Echoing quietly in his ears was the sound of Sam checking on Dean again, but the angel was too focused on his task to pay their brief conversation much attention. Cas passed through Dean’s subconscious and was able to avoid invading his privacy too much; the angel could judge whether a memory was useful to his mission with relative ease. Finally, he came upon a sphere of thought in the hunter’s mind that seemed (for lack of a better word), _tempting._ Proceeding with caution, Cas prodded. With one step, with one touch, the fragile walls holding together this part of Dean’s mind came tumbling down. 

Michael’s grace---archangel grace---flooded past Cas and into every recess of Dean. Memories accosted the angel and hunter in the same moment; _Michael drowning Dean, Micahel banging incessantly, monsters, possession, destruction, pain, pain, pain…._ it was immensely overwhelming. Attempting to compartmentalize the memories and energy he’d just released, Castiel attempted to use his own grace to patch the wall in Dean’s mind; the wall that he’d unintentionally brought down. During his attempt, however, he was met with resistance. Suddenly, he was rendered unable to move or speak, to heal or injure...Cas was completely helpless. In the distance, he heard Sam’s worried pleas. The youngest Winchester begging the angel to get out of his brother’s head. _Dean._ Something must have been happening---something the angel was unaware of in his petrified, peralyzed state. Cas focused all of his energy to returning to the present moment---to leaving Dean’s consciousness. Eventually, the angel felt himself pull away from the hunter’s mind and soon found himself back in his vessel, in the library, watching as Sam eased Dean out of the chair he’d been sitting in. 

“What happened?” Cas questioned, kneeling and trying to help.

“You tell me. Dean just...I don’t know. Went into shock? What did you see? What did you do? Is--is it Michael?” Sam was frantic in demanding answers from the angel, but he was also occupied by Dean’s semi-conscious state.

“I found a wall.” Cas explained. 

“Like _my_ wall? To forget hell?” Sam’s comment was devoid of personal stake---he was too distracted at the moment to fully reflect on his own traumas.

“Not exactly the same. It was more like compartmentalization. Dean knew the memories and the grace was there, he just didn’t know where to look for it.”

“G-grace? Michael’s grace? It--- is that what did this to him?” Sam looked on at Dean’s trembling form as he asked.

“I don’t think so.” Cas was sure in his tone. “I think Dean was right. I don’t think the archangel grace is doing this. I tried to heal the wall with my own grace and I couldn’t. Dean’s body… it stopped me. I think that in trying to protect itself from the memory of Michael---from that last remaining grace---his body is trying to force it out. _That’s_ what’s causing this.”

“All we said...what we worried about. About how Michael might be the only thing holding him together…?”

“Might very well still be true. But Dean was right too. If his _body_ is the problem then maybe there’s a way we can condition it.”

Suddenly, Dean let out a lucid sound---something trying to get Sam’s attention. 

“We’re right here, Dean.”

Face contorted in pain and still trembling, Dean was far from looking healthy. Still, he was proud and indigent as ever.

“W’z ‘aiightt.” _I was right_

Cas wanted to smile at the thought of Dean being stubborn even in this moment, but he controlled the urge.

“Yeah. You were right, Dean. As usual.” Sam assured his brother and the three of them waited on the floor, processing the information. 

Michael’s grace wasn’t actively causing Dean harm. The harm came from his own body’s immune system. The grace, however harmful his body perceived it, might be the very thing holding him together. 

Where was there to go from there? What did this confirmation _do_ for them exactly? Sam supposed it was exactly what Dean said: it meant they weren’t victims anymore. They were taking control, taking action. Sam hoped it would be worth it.

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Dean wound up sleeping for most of the day and Sam followed suit. Cas lingered around the bunker for a while, keeping tabs on them both. Eventually, Sam woke up and began pulling research materials from the library. Cas joined him in reading about possessions and vessels...any and everything they had, even if they’d already poured over it. As Dean’s body seemed to work _relatively_ normally, Sam and Cas also read medical journals and case studies, therapies and drugs. Hours into their study session, Cas had finally gone back to Heaven and Dean emerged from his room. Despite a very worried brother, Dean insisted he was okay. Just a bitch of a headache. Sam offered aspirin but Dean declined. Sam didn’t think much of it until another hour passed and Dean hadn’t taken _anything._ No aspirin, no diazepam, no dilantin, no depakote, _nothing._

“Dean?” Sam questioned, looking up from his book. “Do you wanna take something before it gets too late?”

Dean looked up from his own volume of text and gave a pursed little frown. 

“I’m not gonna take anything, Sam.”

“You’re not...taking anything?” Sam began to sweat. 

“No. Unless you’re not okay with it.”

Sam’s head gave a little tilt and confusion touched his expression. 

“Okay with it?” He repeated. 

“If this whole thing isn’t...M-Michael. If it’s just _me..._ then I want to try and stop curbing it. The drugs are just a way of stopping the instincts my body has. I wanna see if they’re better left untouched. But I know...I know what that means.” Dean’s tone grew in gravity. “I know things’ll get really bad, really fast. And I'm okay with that, I am. But that’s a lot on you, I won’t pretend it’s not. So if you’re not up to it...then we won’t. Not yet.”

Sam’s heart fell at the same time it grew. Dean was taking control of his life. He wasn’t making any apologies. Who was Sam to tell him no?

“I’m with you. All the way.”

“Okay.”

So they sat in the library, waiting for the moment when things would begin to fall apart.

( ) ( ) ( )   
  


**A/N:** **UPDATES** **: I’ll be posting some fix-it fics/re-imaginings for the finale so** **if you’re interested** **, be on the lookout for those in the coming weeks. I will most likely begin with some standalone tags/rewrites and then be undertaking a larger, more complete fix-it story. Additionally, in the coming days I will be posting some random, assorted oneshots (one of them is teenchester/weechester themed if that appeals to you.) FINALLY, I will most certainly be continuing this story though I’ve been having just a ~tad of writer’s block. Dean will be talking more to Nikki some point soon, and another hunt will pop up. That being said, if you have any ideas you wanna throw my way I’m happy to be inspired by you all!**

**In short, thank you so much for feedback, kudos, and readership. Hopefully I will be posting some other fics in the coming weeks but if they turn out to not be your speed, this story remains! It will not be ~left behind.**

**That’s all for now, folks. THANK YOU SO MUCH!**


	12. Painful Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well...as promised in that last chapter, things indeed fall apart. There are some callbacks/parallels to the tone of the first few chapters but then we take a hard left turn. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter a little fast so apologies for typos/mistakes I may have missed. I also cannot disclaim enough that my depictions of medical procedures and terminology should never be considered legitimate. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated and I sincerely hope this story continues to be engaging and rewarding, albeit in the dark way only Supernatural can...

Calling it a bad day wasn't fair; it was an insult to ‘bad days.’ Today was awful. Interminable. Abysmal. Dean Winchester and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. And because Dean was suffering, by extension, so was Sam. Both of them were beginning to wonder if this new, proactive approach wasn't worth the cost.

Dean was in bed, and he would be in bed all day. His good arm was flexed over his face, eyes in the crook of his elbow. A very quiet groan came from him and Sam perked up slightly from his chair beside the mattress. 

In short, Dean was in pain. 

They were already two seizures in and the afternoon had only just begun. Dean didn't want any medication---he was committed, Sam gave him that. But nonetheless, it was miserable. Dean was being particularly stoic today---talking very little and complaining even less; this made it nearly impossible for Sam to find any way of comforting him. Instead of trying to distract or curb, Sam sat next to Dean and tried to simply be there for his brother. But Dean, knowing good and well that Sam was drowning, tried to relieve his brother from the heavy burden of obligation. There was no avoiding this process they had---it was the dance they did, and the dance they’d keep on doing. 

“S’m?” Dean’s voice broke slightly and Sam couldn’t help but feel like it was an involuntary expression of disappointment to the way his speech had disintegrated over the past 24 hours. 

“I’m here.” Sam replied, his own voice steady and relaxed.

“M’ g’on s’eep. Y’ c’n go.”  _ I’m gonna sleep. You can go. _

Dean still hid behind his arm, not letting his face show. 

“I’ll stay till you’re out.” Sam offered. 

“S’m?” Dean paused, hoping his brother would pick up on his subtext. Unfortunately, he did not.

“‘M n’t g’na sl’p. D’n hf’ta s’ty.”  _ I’m not gonna sleep. Don’t hafta stay. _

Conceding, Sam accepted and left the room quietly. He felt guilty for the unconscious sigh of relief that came from his chest, but quickly forgave himself. 

This just plain fucking sucked.

There was no way to sugar coat it and no desire to. Sam took a moment to himself---in his own head---to process what it was  _ he _ needed. He needed a shower. And a shave. The morning had been too chaotic for either. He needed to eat---he was starving, actually.  _ Okay, take an hour.  _ Sam had to instruct himself on self-care, but at least he was obedient. At the sound of his stomach growling, Sam made eating his top priority. Each step came into his mind as a simple command and he executed without much deviation from simple action. The contents of the fridge was overwhelming but he forced himself to eat something substantial. He began reaching for the eggs and had an idea halfway into the motion. Dean had made french toast the other day...if he felt better later, maybe he’d be up for pancakes. Despite the late hour for breakfast, Sam used the eggs in a batter and made a batch of the simple food. Cooking, eating, and cleaning up only took, all-in-all, about half an hour. A stray yawn escaped, but he quickly stifled it with a cup of coffee. Padding back to Dean’s room, Sam peaked through the crack where the hinges adhered to the wall, despite the fact that the door was mostly open. Dean had hardly moved from his earlier position but Sam could still tell that he’d shifted slightly; the movement most likely an attempt to lessen the pain of cramping muscles. Sam backed away quietly and headed towards his own room. Picking up a change of clothes on the way, he continued on to the bathroom and promptly turned on the shower. The water still wasn’t quite warm by the time he was getting in, but Sam didn’t want to waste already limited time waiting for the ancient hot water heater to do its thing. He closed his eyes as the spray covered him and he tried to find a spare reserve of energy to make it through the rest of the day. Interrupting his brief moment of meditation was a muted sound. Shutting off the loud stream of water, the noise became much clearer. 

_ Screaming _

Tumbling from the shower, hair still sudsy, Sam grabbed the first pair of pants he saw and flung them on. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the hall that he realized they were a little short---they were Dean’s sweatpants. Following the cries, Sam wasn’t taken aback by the fact that they came from Dean’s room. On the bed, Dean was thrashing; his head moving rhythmically side to side as noises continued emerging from his throat. Still dripping, Sam approached his brother and observed for a second. If it was about to end, Sam wouldn’t bother rolling him. As the younger man predicted, the jerking became more sporadic and the noises ceased; Dean’s body stilled and Sam sat in the nearby chair, a small puddle having formed where he stood moments earlier. Dean began to rouse slightly, his eyes opening. Not only that, but it appeared that the fit caused him to  _ arouse  _ as well---as if the day wasn’t going poorly enough. Sam debated leaving Dean in the name of privacy, but he didn’t want his brother to wake up alone. So Sam remained in the room, wet and tired, in case his big brother needed reassurance. 

After a few minutes of long blinking and blank stares, Dean finally settled his head to one side and focused on Sam’s face. Wrinkling his forehead, Dean’s face contorted in mild confusion. 

“R y’ w’r’n m’ p’nts?”  _ Are you wearing my pants? _

“I was in the shower when...whatever. Yeah. Sorry, they were the first thing I grabbed.”

Dean’s wrinkled face persisted and his gaze shifted to his own pants. He clumsily reached for the blanket and managed to cover himself before speaking again. 

“G’ f’ns s’w’ ‘m ‘g’d.” 

Sam pursed his lips a little and tried filling in the blanks.

“I didn’t quite get all that but I think I got the gist. I’ll uhh...leave you then.” Sam stood to leave but by the time he was at the door, Dean was speaking again. 

“Y’r a’ws ‘ere ‘en I w-wa’ke ‘p. I-tt h’lps.”  _ You’re always here when I wake up. It helps. _

Sam smiled and nodded, leaving to finish his shower and proud he’d managed to make Dean’s day a little more bearable. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

The next two hours went remarkably well with the exception of the fact that Dean refused to eat. Sam couldn’t blame him, but he feared it would be problematic in the long run. In compromise, Dean agreed to drink some gatorade and eat a few crackers. Bringing him the sustenance, Sam could see the sweat beginning to collect on Dean’s forehead. Despite his pain, Dean had complained so very little; hardly a murmur of whining. Sam knew that his brother had been unable to sleep amidst the pain and regrettably, if Dean was refusing medication, Sam didn’t really have any way to help. Sam remained as quiet as Dean was and silently deposited the goods onto the bed. Sam then picked up the blue gatorade and worked on unscrewing the cap before handing it to his brother. Upon extending his hand, Dean watched as his limb trembled too badly to accept the bottle. He retracted his hand and let out a hiccupy breath. Sam was only flustered for a second before he started problem solving. 

“I’ll go get a straw.” Sam placed the open bottle on the nightstand, placed a napkin full of crackers on Dean’s bed, and departed for the kitchen. 

While on his short errand, Sam also picked up a bottle that had a nipple-like lid, in case that wound up being a better option. Returning to the room, Sam saw Dean awkwardly lifting a cracker to his mouth. When the cracker successfully made it to Dean’s lips, the older man let out a quiet sigh. Sam then slipped the straw into the open gatorade and patiently awaited Dean to guide the proceedings. Staring at his brother chew, waiting for his next instruction, Sam noticed the beads of sweat that continued to collect on Dean’s forehead. 

“Do you have a fever?” Sam’s pitch rose in mild surprise.

“D’nt ‘nk so.”  _ Don’t think so. _

“You seem sick.” Sam clarified. Perhaps Dean’s taciturn mood was a result of more than plain exhaustion. 

Dean gestured for Sam to hand him the gatorade and he received it steadily, quickly bringing the bottle to rest against his chest for added support. As his brother sipped, Sam laid the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead and felt a mild indication of heat. 

“We’ll keep an eye on it.” Sam threw out the comment as it was his only form of productivity in the immediate moment. 

Dean listened but ignored his brother’s comments. Instead, he gestured for Sam to take the bottle back, and put it on the table. In an effort to make up for Dean’s lack of verbalization, Sam tried to fill the silences. 

“You should try and sleep, if you can.”

Dean still didn’t reply, but gave an unconsciousness shrug; something that almost resembled embarrassment. Rather than addressing this observation of defeat directly, Sam recounted an anecdote. He grinned and sat in the chair, learning forward and resting on his knees. 

“You remember when I was in seventh grade? We were settled in Meridian, Idaho? We were holed up in some crappy condo Dad rented and we hadn’t seen him in a week… Anyways, I got the flu and puked in front of the whole class and uhh...the teacher asked me if I wanted her to call my Dad but I gave her your number instead. And you got yelled at for leaving class but you brought me to the car…You gave me your jacket to hold in my lap in case I puked again. And I did. All over your jacket. But you told me it was okay, that you’d take care of me. You bought me orange gatorade and fed me saltines… I don’t think I slept at all for those three days but you stayed with me the whole time.”

Dean looked on with large, round eyes.

“‘S n’t ‘h f’lu, S’am.”  _ This isn’t the flu, Sam. _

“No, Dean. It’s not. Which is why it’s that much more important that I be here.”

“D’nt o’we m’ ‘ny’ing. W’nt y’ to k’nw ‘at.”  _ Don’t owe me anything. Want you to know that.  _

“I know.” Sam declared. “But if it helps, it’s worth it.”

Dean had already confessed the same sentiment earlier, so there was no point in trying to deny it. Besides, it  _ was  _ the truth. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

In time, Dean  _ finally  _ fell asleep and Sam took the opportunity to nap as well. He didn’t know how long this bad spell would last, and he wasn’t going to assume that things would look up. As much as he hoped this was only going to be a bad few days, the reality was that this was entirely new territory and they had no way of predicting the future. 

Before Sam had time to get into bed, his phone buzzed. Assuming it was Dean, he pulled his phone quickly from his pocket. Instead, the messages were from Nikki and Sam opened them to make sure that it wasn’t an emergency. In fact, it was only an update; she would be heading out on a hunt to Colorado. Replying quickly, Sam fell into bed and let sleep steal his worries. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Sam awoke to the sound of water running through the loud pipes of the bunker. Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was nearly eight; he’d slept through the late afternoon and into the early hours of the evening. He’d never intended to sleep for so long and he  _ knew  _ there was no way Dean slept the whole time. Going to investigate the water, Sam wondered if Cas had come by and was the source of the sound. Walking past Dean’s room on his way to the bathroom, Sam went to peek in on his brother but Dean wasn’t there. Not in the bed, not on the floor, not  _ anywhere.  _ Adrenaline flooded Sam’s system and he raced to the sound of the running water. Discarded clothes on the floor, towel draped over the sink, and water spraying partially onto the floor, the bathroom looked a bit like a war zone. Standing in his boxers, amidst the mild chaos, was a shaky Dean Winchester. 

“H’y, sl’py h’ead.”  _ Hey, sleepy head. _

“How long have you been up? Why didn’t you call me?” Sam demanded, a little offended.

“I c’n t’ke c’re ‘f th’ings, S’m.”  _ I can take care of things, Sam. _

There was a little bit of a warning tone in his voice; for both of their sakes, he was reminding Sam that he was capable.

“I know. I just mean what happened?”

Dean’s gaze broke away as he leaned a little more on the counter and Sam used deductive reasoning to conclude what he’d missed before. The fact that Dean was showering, the wet clothes on the floor.... He’d had some kind of accident. Though Sam had figured it out in the intervening silence, Dean still responded. 

“Y’ r’lly d’nt w’nna k’now. B’t I g’t it.”  _ You really don’t wanna know. But I got it.  _

“Are you feeling any better?”

“uhL’ttle.”  _ A little _

“Okay…” 

Sam stood awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to do. Dean was clearly unsteady, nearly all his weight on the countertop. Not only that, but having been asleep for so long, Sam was going on very little information. He’d missed hours of activity and it's not like Dean was volunteering any answers. He wanted Dean to have his space, Sam really, honestly, did. But this wasn’t a day for routine 2, or 3… This was a day where they both needed to accept that Dean needed all the help in the world. 

“Dean,” Sam began, “I’m not gonna think you’re any less capable because you ask for help.” Sam spoke softly, his tone soothing. 

Dean let his eyes drop and shifted his weight ever so slightly. 

“Th’ngs ‘re g’n r’ly w’ll. D’nntw’na l’ose ‘at.”  _ Things were going really well. Don’t wanna lose that. _

“I know. But this is us---” Sam corrected himself. “This is  _ you  _ taking back control. We knew it wasn’t gonna be easy.”

“W’nt m’ ‘ce b’k.”  _ Want my.. _

“Sorry. What do you want?”

Dean laughed a dry, humorless chuckle and tried again.

“V’o’ice b’ck.”  _ Voice back _

It was Sam’s turn to give a pitiful grin. 

“Oh.”

“W’tv’er. H’lp me s’t d’wn?”  _ Whatever. Help me sit down? _

It appeared that a little bit of regular Dean was returning to the bland vessel he’d been most of the day and Sam was happy to see it. Taking most of Dean’s weight, Sam felt how shaky his brother’s muscles were; Sam was shocked that he’d managed to stay upright as long as he had. In a flash of  déja vu , Sam felt the familiarity of this scene hang in the air around him. It wasn’t so long ago that this very circumstance had played out. How much had changed since that memory? They’d visited Jody, hunted, Dean had gotten his speech back, they’d diagnosed the Archangel grace dilemma, and yet---Sam felt a wave of sadness wash over him just as the spray of the shower caught his sleeve---and yet they were right back where they started. Overwhelmed by this thought as he was, he couldn’t possibly imagine how hard that realization must have been for Dean. The logical part of Sam wanted to shout and scream and argue and persuade that they  _ had  _ come so far. He wanted to do this because it was true. But the fragility of their situation made it such that there could never be linear progress; never anything truly reliable, truly dependable. Dean must have had the same memory recall because he suddenly asked Sam for a distraction. 

“S’m? W’ld you t-talk t’o me?”  _ Sam? Would you talk to me? _

“Yeah, of course..umm…” Sam hesitated for a moment, Dean’s anxious breathing audible even over the sound of the water. “Nikki texted me earlier. She’s heading out on a salt ‘n burn in Colorado but wanted to let someone know where she was headed.”

“N’kki was a’lways very...” Sam could  _ hear  _ Dean’s grin. “P’repared.” 

“That’s what does it? I’ve been talking to you all day and  _ Nikki’s  _ the one that gets the perfect pronunciation?” Sam laughed, blushing and genuinely happy.

“No ‘ffense, S’m, but my g’ood m’mories with h’er ‘re l’ttle m’ore---”  _ No offense, Sam, but my good memories with her are a little more--- _

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! I get the picture.”

“W’ sh’ould go h’lp ‘er out.”  _ We should go help her out. _

Sam snickered uncharacteristically; partially because he knew Dean would appreciate it. 

“N-not  _ that  _ w’ay. If s’he hasn’t been h’nting she’s s’prolly a l’ttle r-rusty.”  _ Not ~that way. If she hasn’t been hunting she’s prolly a little rusty.  _

“If you wanna see her I’m all for it but I’m sure she can handle the case.”

“Y’eah.” Dean was a little disappointed but recognized it wasn’t really a feasible option at the moment. “C’ld you g’et the w’ter?”  _ Could you get the water? _

“Yeah.” Sam reached behind the curtain and shut the water off. He then grabbed the towel laid over the back of the sink, and extended it blindly behind the divider. He heard a soft groan and couldn’t help the sympathetic thump his heart gave.

“You okay?” The younger man asked.

In return, a louder, more severe whine came from his brother and Sam tried to stop his instincts from tearing the curtain out of the way.

“Arhhhh… S’mmy.” 

That was all the permission Sam needed. Sliding the fabric out of the way, Sam frantically tried to identify the problem. It took him a painfully long moment to recognize the issue because, in fact, it looked like a  _ solution  _ rather than a problem. Dean’s bad leg---usually angled and locked---was straightened and lax. 

Despite the seeming improvement, Dean showed little indication that he considered this a success; Sam quickly changed gears and tried to gauge how helpful he could be. 

“Hey, hey, I’m here. Is it your leg?”

“Rgghh---’ss r’eally b’ad. F’uck.”  _ It’s really bad. Fuck. _

“What can I do?”

“F’ls l’ke s’mone’s s’awing ‘t off.”  _ Feels like someone’s sawing it off. _

“I can call Cas, he can try to---”

“No, nonono. W’nt help. G-get uhh..” Dean struggled to concentrate. “P’hne num’ber ‘n m’ d’esk. D’cter from the c’lin’c. C’all.”  _ No, no, no. Won’t help. Get uhh… Phone number on my desk. Doctor from the clinic. Call. _

Sam took off and easily found the scrawled number on top of a manilla folder. Dialing, he made his way back to the bathroom and began hearing dial tones.  _ Pick up, pick up, pick up…. _ Sam repeated in his head. Finally, a faintly familiar voice picked up. 

“Hello?”

She sounded mildly surprised and Sam remembered that it was best for everyone if he stayed calm. 

“My name is Sam Winchester. You treated me and my brother Dean a little while ago outside of Sioux Falls…”

“Oh sure, I remember you two. Look, I’m really sorry if it was forward of me to give your brother—”

“We need your help.” Sam interrupted her, not having the time for politeness. 

“What’s happening?” Her tone was accommodating to his---suddenly authoritative and competent. 

“Dean’s leg is—I don’t know. He’s in a lot of pain.” 

Echoing Sam’s observation, Dean banged his head lightly against the bathroom wall and made an angry sound.

“Can you get to a hospital?” She asked.

“Not really.” Sam’s pitch rose, desperation growing. 

“Okay, I need you to describe to me what the pain feels like and where it’s radiating from.” 

Sam adjusted the settings on his phone so that she was on speaker; while this wasn’t a circumstance to worry about inclusion, Sam wanted Dean to be more than an object they were discussing.

“Dean—I have her on the phone, okay? Can you explain how it feels?”

“Ss n’t cr’ampin. Ss l’ke p’lses.”

“He says it’s not like cramping. It’s pulses.” Sam translated.

“From your hip, Dean?” She specified.

“Vrh’here n m l’g.” Dean’s teeth ground together as he spoke.

“He says everywhere. His whole leg.” Sam interpreted once again. 

“Does Dean have myositis? Has that diagnosis ever come up?” 

“No---we’ve never heard that…”

“It’s chronic muscle weakness, damage...an auto-immune disease, the body attacks itself.” She explained.

Sam and Dean shared a knowing look. It seemed that their theory was solidifying; their supernatural, archangel, crisis---despite its otherness---was being met with biological, human resistance. If the stakes weren’t so high, it would almost be poetic; all that Sam and Dean stood for was reflected in this very circumstance. Two men--- two human beings---outgunned and underprepared—attempting to combat evils far out of their control.

Despite the lack of response she received, the doctor continued thinking out loud. 

“Dean, do you have a fever?” She asked.

Sam’s shoulders fell. 

“He had a mild one earlier.”

“Okay. It’s probably a flare up of his spasticity.” 

“D’nt c’re what i’tss c’lled.”  _ I don’t care what it’s called.  _

Whether the women heard or understood him was unclear. Either way, she was committed to doing what she could.

“What medications do you have available? Dean takes Diazepam, right?”

Dean silently shook his head and Sam gave his response, disappointed. 

“No, we don’t umm…”

Unaware of the fact that Dean  _ wouldn’t  _ take it rather than  _ couldn’t,  _ she tried to offer an alternative. 

“Any bottle that says Benzodiazepine?” 

“No.” 

“D’nt n’ee dit t f’x’d jus n’ee dit b’tter.” 

“He says he just needs a little relief. Until we can get somewhere.” Sam adjusted Dean’s comment so that she wouldn’t suspect they were refusing treatment. 

“Dean, do you remember how I moved your leg at the clinic? Did that help?”

“Y’sss t’ll S’m.” 

“He says yes. Tell me what to do.”

“Okay, he needs to be flat on his back---on a bed or the floor, anywhere stable.”

Sam rubbed his forehead and placed the phone on the counter. A little slippery, though, the cell clattered to the tile floor. Grunting in exasperation, Sam looked for a new location to prop it on.

“G’ve ‘tto me.”  _ Give it to me _

Sam handed the phone to Dean’s outstretched arm and Dean spoke into it.

“C’n w’e c’all y’ b’ack?”  _ Can we call you back? _

“I’ll be here. Try to relax as best you can.” She hung up then and Sam bent to get his shoulder under Dean’s arm; Dean was all too aware of the towel still precariously laid over his lap.

“W’oh wwhhh...p’lls g’t me s’me p’nts.”  _ Woah, woah. Please get me some pants _

“That’s a really good idea.” Despite the tension, Sam gave a small smile and turned to retrieve the folded sweats on the counter. 

The pants were wet from the residual shower water by the time they were on Dean and he was panting—pun intended—by the end of the activity. His earlier stoic mood had fallen away and he was now cursing and groaning as Sam lifted his weight and began hauling him out of the bathroom. 

“N’ p’nt n t’kin me t’ my r’oom. J’st p’ut me d’wn in th’ h’all.”  _ No point in taking me to my room. Just put me down in the hall. _

“Lean into me.” Sam instructed.

In easing his weight further onto Sam, the taller man was able to slowly kneel down such that they were both seated on the ground. Dean made noises of discomfort and opened the phone to call back the doctor. Before she picked up, Dean told Sam that he’d need a sheet or a towel, a rope...anything to create leverage. Sam dashed to find something and Dr. Kroff picked up the other end of the line.

“Is he still hanging in there?” She answered, obviously thinking it was Sam.

“M’ t’ryin.” Dean replied.

Sam came back in then, a few supplies in hand, and took the phone from Dean. Putting it on speaker, he placed it on the floor beside them.

“We’re both here. Can you walk me through this?”

“Dean, I need you to keep breathing, okay? Panic is gonna make this worse. Sam?”

“I’m ready.” 

“Okay, you need to make sure his leg is as straight as possible. While he’s lying down you want his knee to be in line with his peck. Does that make sense?” She confirmed.

Dean lifted his head and banged it against the floor, trying not to make noise as they spoke.

“I understand. But his legs are bowed, it doesn’t naturally line up like that. I don’t wanna make it worse.”

“St’pid f’ckin leg.” Dean mumbled.

Dr. Kroff adjusted her instructions accordingly and continued speaking.

“That’s okay. Make an invisible point closer to his shoulder, further away from his torso. You want to keep the knee straight when you move the leg.” 

“I got it.” Sam affirmed. 

“I want you to use a sheet or a towel and loop it under his foot.”

Sam was silent as he worked and Dean had receded back into pained silence, his good arm flung over his face. 

“Done.” 

“Dean?” She called out to him.

“He’s here.” Sam responded for him.

“Dean, Sam is gonna pull your leg towards your chest, okay? And it’ll hurt a lot. I’m sorry. But keeping it bent will help, it’ll just take a few minutes to start feeling better. It’s just like what we did in the office when you were cramping.” 

“K.” Was all Dean said.

“Alright. Sam? I want you to pull the sheet slowly and try to keep his knee in line with that point you made by his shoulder. When his thigh is between a 45 and 90 degree angle with his hip, stop pulling. Dean? Tell Sam if he pulls too far. You’ll feel it.” She took a breath and started again. “You can hold the tension of the sheet until he feels relief or you can tie it behind him. When he feels better I strongly suggest you get yourselves to the hospital so they can give him something. I’ll stay on the line until you’re settled.” 

Sam reached out a hand to Dean’s elbow which was currently over his eyes. Dean nodded from underneath Sam’s touch and the younger man positioned himself for the movement. 

“One. Two. Three.” 

Sam pulled back slowly just as she’d instructed. Dean’s arm flung away from his face and his fist slammed on the ground as a pained, angry shout came from him. Approaching a rough 45 degree angle, Sam slowed but continued pulling back. A few more centimeters and Dean was pounding his fist on the ground, yelling at Sam to stop progressing. Sam held the position until Dean caught his breath and Dr. Kroff remained silent on the phone. 

It felt like hours that they stayed frozen but in reality, it had only been about four minutes. Dean then suddenly released a gust of air he’d been holding in his lungs and Sam saw Dean’s body drop its painful tension. Sam held onto the sheet with the same force, but had his own wave of relief knowing they were out of the woods. 

“Better.” Dean spoke clearly and Sam nearly lost his mind with the emotional whiplash today’s events were causing. 

Dr. Kroff’s electronic, filtered voice filled the room once again as she checked in.

“If Dean continues feeling more and more relief you can continue holding the leverage but letting go shouldn’t bring the pain back.”

“Thank you. Really.” Dean was high on endorphins and had an odd calmness in the way he spoke to her. Almost reverent. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourselves? I’ve become pretty invested after all.” 

“We promise. Thank you.” Sam’s tone was more than grateful.

They heard the phone click as she left the line, and Dean released another breath. 

“You can let it go."

Sam ever so gingerly released the tension on the sheet inch by inch until Dean’s heel had reached the floor again. Only in this moment of peace did Sam realize how utterly ridiculous the scene they created looked. Dean’s wet hair made a small puddle underneath him, he was still shirtless and now, in such bliss, practically on the edge of sleep. Sam’s hair had fallen in his face, an off-white sheet lay in the middle of the hall, and the phone still sat on the floor, equidistant between the two of them. 

“So what I learned today is that showers are bad luck and a huge waste of time.” Dean spoke, humor dry but potent.

Sam laughed a big laugh and felt his own rush of bliss. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

The next morning, Sam woke up before Dean and made coffee as usual. Despite the awfulness of yesterday, by the time they were going to bed Dean had been in much greater spirits. Sam had also gotten another update from Nikki---that she’d arrived in Colorado. As he sat drinking at the kitchen table, he heard Dean stumbling out of bed. He briefly debated getting up to help but decided against it. Dean’s uneven footsteps approached but then stopped about halfway down the hall. Perking up, Sam’s brow furrowed at the odd pause in movement. 

“Sam? Would you c’mere?” Dean called out though he didn’t sound distressed or surprised in any way. 

Sam stepped out of the kitchen and saw Dean, as usual, leaning a little off-center and standing close to the wall for support. 

“Sammy, you remember when we watched  _ Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory  _ when you were, I don’t know, eight maybe?”

“Yeah…? Dean, are you  _ sleepwalking?  _ What the hell are you talking---?” 

Before Sam could finish his question, Dean took a limping step forward and then leaned against the wall. Suddenly, he pushed away dramatically, bounded with perfect balance another few steps forward, and eventually ducked down to the floor, curling himself into a ball, and rolling to Sam’s feet before popping back up with an agile jump. 

It was a picture-perfect recreation of Willy Wonka’s dramatic introduction from the film. 

“Sammy?” Dean said, dumb grin ear to ear, “How much do you think a trampoline costs?” 

Answering Dean’s question without any words, Sam engulfed his brother in a smothering hug. 

As far as Sam was concerned, Dean could get a trampoline, a race car, paintball guns, anything. 

Hell, he even deserved a chocolate factory. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

**A/N: Feedback is demon blood and I am Sam. What can I say? I’m addicted. In all seriousness, I am so thrilled that anyone at all is enjoying this story.**

**More to come! Thank you!**


	13. Transmission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Your feedback is so very valued and appreciated. Many, many thanks. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Red Cliff, CO is a real place but I’ve taken creative liberties representing its size, etc… 
> 
> On with the story! Sam and Dean have some serious fun to catch up on, but not without some detours along the way. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

It had been six hours since Dean woke up and he had yet to sit down. The seasoned hunter could not have been enjoying his newfound mobility any more, and Sam was enjoying it just the same. In addition to being on his feet, Dean hadn’t  _ shut up  _ all day; his mouth was moving as dexterously and vibrantly as his legs. Currently, he was doing laps around the bunker without any real purpose, while also singing along loudly to his vinyl. 

“ _ Still like that old time rock ‘n roll / that kinda music just soothes the soul / I reminisce about the days of old / with that old time rock ‘n roll.” _

Still singing, Dean came bounding up the few steps to the library platform with a small stack of books in his hands. He dropped them onto a table and a small cloud of dust rose from their covers. Sam looked on from a distance and tried piecing together what the hell his brother had in mind. Standing, Dean leafed through a few pages until he stopped flipping and instead took the phone from his back pocket and snapped a picture of the page. Dean’s head was still nodding in time with the music, his lips were still casually miming the lyrics, and his leg was tapping out the beat as well. Dean remained on his phone for a moment, eventually grinned, and then restacked the books. Picking them up again to take them back to their rightful place, Sam finally interrupted. 

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“Putting the books away.” He wasn’t being cute; Dean literally hadn’t understood Sam’s implication. In reaction, Sam smiled. 

“No, what are you  _ doing  _ with the books?”

“Oh. Uhh Nikki wondered if we had any lore on vengeful spirits tied to living things.”

“ _ Living _ things?”

“A pet, maybe? I don’t know. Sent a few things her way.”

“Speaking of sending…” Sam began, “Do you think we should give Cas an update?”

Dean hesitated for a moment and tried to casually shrug while answering. 

“Wanna wait a little longer till we do the whole show-and-tell routine. Not really in the mood to tempt fate.”

“No, yeah, sure. I get it.”

“Alright-- well, I don’t know about you but I’ve run around this whole place about seven times and I’m ready to get the hell outta here. Waddya say we get some food? Go for a run? Something like that?”

Sam eyebrows raised as high as they would and Dean knew the response headed his way.

“Go for a  _ run? _ ” Sam repeated. “ _ Running?  _ With  _ you…?” _

“Yes, Sam. One foot in front of the other.”

“You’re out of shape.” Sam countered. 

Despite the fact that the statement was true due to Dean’s illness, Sam had meant it unrelated and Dean knew that.

“Yeah, well your legs are about eight feet longer, so you’re just a cheat. C’mon, watch me suck wind, it’ll be fun.”

“Dean, you don’t need to convince me, we’ll go.” Sam smiled as a consolation prize for his blooming frown. “But that’s not really what you want to do.” Sam called him out. 

Dean took in a deep breath and walked over a little closer to Sam. His tone was removed and factual---his shoulders shrugging in between his sentences. 

“No, it’s not. But look--- hunting…” He tailed off briefly, organizing his thoughts. “All I wanna do is work. But hunting is different right now, I get it. But I’m losing my mind not being productive. I mean, I don’t have hobbies---not really. All I wanna do is shoot something, kick something, slam, punch, kill. But until we get a handle on this---whatever  _ this  _ is---I’m gonna focus on makin’ sure I’m ready to get back in the game. New year’s resolution: Dean Winchester back and better than ever.”

“And that involves running?” 

“Well…” Dean took another moment to consider the loathsome activity. “Something like that. C’mon, let’s get outta here.” 

Sam was more than happy to get out of the bunker for a while. Their seclusion was beginning to take a toll on him as well. Sam was also itching to work---to be productive, to do something familiar. Closing his laptop and grabbing his coat, he followed Dean to the garage and without thinking grabbed the keys to the Impala. He noticed Dean eyeing the movement and Sam suddenly realized that with his leg better, there wasn’t really any reason for him not to take over. 

“You wanna drive?!” Sam asked excitedly, holding the keys more in view. 

Dean stared longingly but a knowing look washed over him, turning his hope to practicality. 

“Should wait and see if I can make it through today without a reprise of shake, rattle and roll.”

Oh. 

Right.

In his excitement Sam had almost forgotten the fact that not all their problems were solved. Still, Dean didn’t harp on the moment so neither did his brother. Leaving in search of food and a good time, the brothers pulled out of the garage, smiling and unburdened. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

They’d gotten food at a nicer place---more of a modern sandwich shop than a roadside diner. Dean insisted that Sam choose the food despite the fact that the younger one had been in full support of deep fried cholesterol. There was something in Dean’s tone that made Sam accept the offer, though. Sam knew it was Dean saying thank you---saying it silently and in his own way, but saying it all the same. After they’d eaten, Sam drove around looking for a park or trail; anywhere that he and Dean could walk around. Settling on a large, open, and relatively empty site, Sam parked and they’d wandered around. Dotted along the looping tails were small plots of exercise equipment; obviously installed by a recreation board and something that had never taken off. There were various beams and ledges, bars and swings. 

Dean played on every single one. 

It was as if the utilitarian equipment was an irresistibly tempting playground offering endless possibilities of fun. Dean bounced on every pedestal, strutted on every beam, and weaved through every picket. He paraded through every stop with a stupid, smug smile glued to his face and Sam couldn’t resist joining in on the fun. He dodged and shoved, skipped and swung, joining his brother in the simplest of joys; joys they realized they had once taken for granted. 

Finally looping back to the beginning of the path, Dean paused about thirty yards from the parking lot. Without noticing, Sam continued heading for the car and only noticed Dean’s absence when he heard his brother’s voice come from behind him. 

“Hey, Sam?” Dean began. 

“Yeah?” He responded, turning to face him.

“Come hit me.”

“ _ What?”  _ Sam asked, half amused, half perplexed. 

“I mean,  _ try  _ to hit me. C’mon.” Dean’s tone was entirely serious and Sam didn’t quite know what to make of it. 

“Dean, this is ridiculous.”

“No it’s not.” He was playful. “Seriously, I haven’t fought hand-to-hand in forever. Gotta get my body back into the swing of things.”

“Believe me, you’re already in the swing.” Sam tried using reassurance to dissuade Dean from goading him into what was bound to be a very bad idea. 

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, c’mon.” Dean taunted. 

“Dean, I’m not just gonna punch you in the face.” Sam insisted.

“It’s cute you think you’ll get that close.” 

Dean wiggled his eyebrows and Sam couldn’t help but become officially invested. 

“Is that a challenge?” The younger one asked. 

“Maybe.” 

There was a held breath by the both of them before Sam finally responded. 

“Do you honestly believe you can bully me into wrestling with you?”

Dean’s stance became sturdier and his head tilted a tad to one side; he looked like he was preparing to be tackled. Or perhaps he was preparing  _ to tackle... _

“I don’t know, is it working? Bitch.” He smiled, smugly. 

“Okay, fine. Jackass.” 

Sam strutted over and stood within a few feet of Dean, wondering how far this was really gonna go. Apparently, Dean was deciding for the both of them; the shorter man made a grab at his brother’s shoulder, attempting to pull it down so that he could knee him in the stomach. Sam knew Dean wouldn’t  _ really  _ hurt him, but in the spirit of sparring, Sam genuinely tried to block the attack. Successfully turning out of Dean’s grasp, Sam tried to land a punch of his own. Dodging, Dean avoided the contact and spun back out such that they were facing each other yet again. Dean held up his hand to indicate a pause and held his eyes closed for a long, extended blink. 

“On account of the fact that everything’s spinning, I call a time-out.” Dean stood still for another moment before grinning and continuing towards the car. “Got some work to do but the important thing is that you  _ still  _ can’t kick my ass…” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “I thought  _ I  _ needed work but  _ Sammy...  _ C’mon, I taught you better than that.” Dean chuckled as he tucked himself into the passenger seat and Sam shook his head.

“You’re an idiot.” He countered, laughing along with him. 

Starting the car, Sam began backing out and Dean closed his eyes again. Sam didn’t particularly think anything of it until Dean spoke in a quieter, more analytic tone. 

“I’m gonna space out for a minute, I think…” 

It was rare for Dean to sense an absence seizure coming but it was difficult to phase Sam these days. Just as he’d predicted, Dean stared blankly out the front window as micro movements in his fingers caused his fisted hand to wiggle against his chest. Sam stopped before merging onto the road, wanting to make sure nothing more dramatic was on the horizon. Luckily, Dean regained lucidity and told Sam that heading back home was probably a good idea. Agreeing with his brother, Sam drove back to the bunker with Bob Seger blaring the whole way. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Back home, Dean immediately headed for the kitchen and Sam couldn’t help but chastise him. 

“We  _ just  _ ate.” 

“‘ _ Just’  _ being like two hours ago.” Dean stated it as if it was plainly obvious that it was time to eat again. “Besides, you’ve seen how skinny I am. I got on the scale this morning and I was like a buck seventy. I get into a fight and the freak’s gonna push me over with his pinky.”

“Gun to my head, I get asked to describe you, ‘push-over’ is not gonna be one of my words.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the double meaning Sam was playing with and went back to pulling food from the fridge. His hands paused over a bottle of beer and he hesitated for a moment. Pulling it out and placing it on the counter, Dean ate first, ignoring the drink. Eventually, Sam broke and couldn't resist showing his smirky smile. 

“Dean, you don’t need my permission.”

Dean’s brow furrowed and he looked comically displeased. 

“I’m not waiting for your permission.” He paused, rolling his eyes up to his skull briefly. “I’m waiting because I  _ value  _ your opinion.”

“Drink the beer, Dean.” Sam smiled. 

Despite the fact that he’d called Dean out, he knew that Dean had only waited as a courtesy. His brother was genuinely considerate of the fact that Sam might have serious reservations about him drinking. In all honesty, as much as Sam was worried about possible repercussions, he was more interested in finding ways of making his brother happy. Still hesitant, Dean paused before bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips. Finally committing, Dean took a long pull and closed his eyes to savor it. It had been a long time since Dean had a drink---he and Sam both remember the misery of sobriety during those rough first weeks. The older man smiled around the lip of the bottle and Sam saw the comment coming before Dean spoke. 

“This is cheap-ass beer.”

“Yes it is.” Sam agreed, nodding. 

Standing to retrieve one himself, Sam moved over to the fridge as Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Sam was back at the table and tossing his bottle cap down with a rattling clank by the time Dean pulled the phone from his pants. Not immediately reading the messages out loud, Sam’s curiosity was piqued but figured that if Dean wasn’t sharing it was probably because the messages were better off left  _ unshared.  _ Sam cringed internally but made no obvious facial expression. Dean seemed to reread the messages several times and his expression grew more pensive each time. Finally, he wet his lips and looked up at Sam with both confusion and worry.

“You've been texting Nikki a little, right?”

“Not much...just that she was checking out that hunt in Colorado. I thought you sent her some lore earlier.”

“I did. But you haven’t heard anything since then?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“She just texted me again but something seems weird. Doesn’t sound like her at all.” 

“You said yourself you haven’t seen her in a long time. People change, you know? Maybe you’re just not used to the person she is now.”

Dean wasn’t sold. 

“No, Sam. People change but they don’t  _ change.  _ Something’s wrong.”

“Dean, I know you care about her. And I know you’re dying to get back out there. Are you sure this isn’t just seeing something you wanna see?”

“I was right about the Adlet, wasn’t I?” Dean’s tension was rising. 

“Yeah, but this isn’t even remotely the same. You’re basing this off a  _ text message  _ from someone you haven’t seen in like ten years.”

Rather than responding, Dean held his phone up to Sam and the younger man glanced to read the messages displayed on the screen in front of him.

_ I’m getting lonely out here, Dean _

_ “ _ Dude, I don’t wanna see this--”

“Just read the damn messages.” Dean barked.

Sam reluctantly looked back.

_ Bed’s been pretty cold.  _

_ Ditch the deadweight brother you got and we can have fun like old times.  _

_ I’m staying in Red Cliff and got a room rented out for the week.  _

_ I know you’re scared cause your body’s weaker now, but baby I can still put you to good use. Come show me what you’re made of. _

Dean’s eyes were cold and dark, his lips in a stern line. 

“Tell me that sounds  _ anything  _ like Nikki.”

Sam swallowed thickly and shook his head. 

“That’s not her.” Sam responded.

Dean’s voice echoed loud and clear. 

“No, it’s not.” 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

They were ninety minutes into their car ride to Colorado and Dean was already restless. He said it was because he was losing out on enjoying his newfound mobility but Sam had other theories. Dean was nervous and hesitant; while he’d been the first to begin packing and insisted they leave as soon as possible, he was still anxious. So anxious in fact, that he brought his prescriptions. Right before they left, Sam decided to go behind his brother’s back and pack his medications. If things got bad, on the road no less, Sam didn’t want to be helpless. But peering into the medicine cabinet, he had found it empty save for a few half bottles of Aspirin and Tums. Sam knew that the yellow containers hadn’t casually been misplaced; if they weren’t there, then it meant Dean must have already packed them. And if Dean packed them, it meant that this hunt was more important than getting better. 

Translation: Nikki was more important than getting better. Or, maybe what Nikki  _ represented _ was more important than getting better. Sam wasn’t entirely sure which was the truth. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. Still, the question rattled in Sam’s head:  _ what had happened between them?  _

The answer could have been:  _ nothing.  _

The answer could have been:  _ everything.  _

Looking over at Dean in the passenger seat, Sam concluded that if there was ever a time to make inquiries, it was now. 

“Dean?” He tried timidly.

“Hmm” Dean didn’t bother looking up from his phone.

“We’ll figure out what’s up with Nikki…” Sam tried coaxing him into sharing. 

I know.” Dean’s pitch was relatively high and his tone casual. 

It was clear that Sam wouldn’t be getting anywhere without being more direct.

“Is there something more between you two? You don’t have to tell me but the way you talk about her is like… like she means something different.” 

“You’ve met her, Sam. She’s just a good person, that’s all.” 

“Yeah. She is. But you seem very... _ invested--” _

“Sam! What are you getting at? Just spit it out.” Dean rubbed his face and turned to stare at his brother. 

Sam probably should have taken a moment to consider what he was going to say but he couldn’t stop himself from spilling. 

“I know you brought your meds. Which means that despite how well you’re doing, you’d risk starting over if you had to. And your decisions are  _ your decisions _ ...that’s fine. But I wanna know if there’s a reason, or if it’s your stupid, stoic, sacrificial, self-hatred crap. I don’t wanna go into this case not knowing what’s going on with you. Cause we both know that doesn't usually end well.” 

Taking a moment to breathe after his speech, Sam wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he would get from his passenger. 

Dean’s expression was more annoyed than anything; he looked like he was simply irritated at the prospect of having to speak. 

“She’s a friend, Sam. A friend that’s in trouble---someone we gotta save. Last time I checked, that’s kinda what we do.”

“Okay.” Sam conceded he wasn’t getting anywhere. 

Dean bit his lip. He felt bad about being curt and knew that Sam was only trying to find all the puzzle pieces. Sighing in defeat, Dean explained. 

“She told me something once. It kinda stuck with me.” Dean paused and Sam looked over for a brief moment. “She said that every hunter craves death...at least a part of them. And the only way to stop that from taking over is to spend time really  _ living. _ ” Dean swallowed. “She said it better than that, but you get the idea.”

Sam was silent, wondering if his brother would go on. 

He did. 

“And we had fun. We did. But it was always…” Dean trailed off. “She wanted it to be more than just fun. Not serious or anything, just more like...she wanted what we were doing to be  _ living.  _ Contentment, I guess. So ever since M-” He swallowed again. “Ever since Michael...and since she reached out...I’ve been thinking about that a lot. About wanting to make sure I’m really living. And I owe it to her to say thank you for that. For reminding me.” 

Sam was surprised at how open his brother was only moments after snapping at him; to be fair, though, Dean was always surprising Sam. 

“Then we’ll make sure you get the chance to thank her.”

Dean nodded and stared out the side window, clearly uncomfortable at how the levity evaporated. Leaving his brother to his privacy of thought, Sam continued driving. Forty five minutes later, gentle snores filled the car and Sam continued driving the straight and simple route from Lebanon to Red Cliff. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Sam wanted to stop. Six hours in the car and he needed to stretch his legs, he needed a cup of coffee, and he needed to get out of his own head. Dean didn’t have much to say and Sam could only suppose that it was because he was swept up in a flood of his own memories. Passing signs about an upcoming exit with food, lodging, and gas, Sam changed lanes in anticipation of taking it. If Dean noticed, he didn’t make any commentary. A few miles off the main drag was a small strip mall. A diner and a motel were at its center and various convenience stores and alike were dotted around. Parking outside a small grocery store, Sam opened his door but Dean made no move to get out. 

“Dean? You want me to grab you a coffee or something?” 

The short haired man remained silent. 

“Hey. Dean?” Sam peered into the car from his position standing in the open door. Dean blinked a few times and it occurred to Sam that his brother’s daze could have been a seizure. Crawling back into the car, Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. At his touch, the older man jumped. 

“Just me. Sorry.” Sam apologized, removing his hand. “We stopped to get some caffeine. I don’t know how long you were zoned out. You feel okay?”

Dean’s face was more marked by confusion than concern. 

“I wasn’t uhh...I don’t know. You didn’t hear anything?” Dean asked. 

“No. What kind of things were you hearing?” Sam attempted to keep his tone flat and unassuming despite his curiosity. 

“Just kind of a--- _ buzzing.  _ It’s nothing. I prolly just had a bunch of little ones, one after another.” Dean shook his head and wrote the moment off as a series of absent seizures. Sam was still a little doubtful but nothing else about his brother seemed concerning. 

Sam nodded instinctually and got out of the car once again. This time, Dean followed suit and they strode into the store in hopes that a leg stretch and a cup of coffee would get them through the remaining few hours to Colorado. 

Thirty minutes back on the road, Dean brought his hand to his ear and asked Sam, 

“You don’t hear that?” 

“Hear what?” 

“Buzzing, ringing...white noise.” Dean specified. 

“I don’t hear anything. You want me to pull over?” He offered. 

Dean pinched his eyes in consideration but shook his head. 

“No. Just keep driving, ‘m fine.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not really...just kinda... _ busy.  _ Does that make sense?”

Dean’s question was rhetorical so Sam stopped looking for answers he knew wouldn’t come. Besides which, the ringing of Sam’s phone interrupted. 

“Want me to get it?” Dean offered. 

Truthfully, Sam didn’t. He had no way of knowing who was calling, why they were calling, or what they had to say. Always airing on the side of caution, Sam had kept what little information they had close to his chest; but hunters could only be kept in the dark for so long. In the beginning, Sam had ignored as many requests for help as he could manage---outsourcing what he could. But eventually he had to open up; Sam had to explain why he and Dean would be off the grid. And so, inevitably, most everyone had heard about what happened with Michael. 

About what happened to Dean. 

Hunters-- never the most reliable-- couldn’t be counted on to be sensitive or discrete, respectful or considerate. Some were more than understanding but others were a bit too caught up in the drama of the story. That was exactly the scenario Sam was concerned about now; a hunter who was too invested in the trauma. A random hunter, looking for help, who was all-too excited to speak to the living, breathing, screwed-up Dean Winchester. 

But Sam didn’t dare say any of this to Dean. 

“Sure.” Was all he said. 

Clenching the steering wheel in anticipation, Sam waited for the moment when he’d learn what kind of a scenario they were dealing with. 

“Winchester Incorporated. What’s the skinny?” Dean answered, amused with himself. 

Muffled voices came from the other end of the line and Dean’s tone dropped in pitch. Sam clenched the wheel harder. 

“All due respect to Garth, but I don’t really give a crap about what he says.”

Sam swallowed thickly as Dean responded once again. 

“Doesn’t work like that, blockhead.” Dean condescended. 

There was another lull of silence as Dean listened to the voice still unknown to Sam.

“If it’s a Revenant they’ll prolly come back in the original body so make sure you’re not just dealing with a spirit.” There was a brief pause. “Yeah, silver’ll do it.” 

With that, Dean dropped Sam’s phone onto the portion of seat between them and rubbed his face. 

“So I take it that didn’t go great.” Sam observed. 

“Garth’s contact, Ned---just as pathetic as he sounds, by the way---was just friggin tickled to get me on the phone. Maybe we oughtta open a sideshow, charge admission. Dean Winchester: Michael’s puppet, learning to walk and talk again like a real boy.” His tone was drenched in ooey, goey, saccharine. 

Sam knew that there wasn’t a response that was likely to make a difference so he let Dean get it out. In two hours they’d be in Red Cliff and there wouldn't be time for self-loathing or resentment---the case would take precedence. So for the time being, Sam let Dean vent and didn’t bother trying to curb his brother’s hurt. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Two and a half hours later, Sam and Dean were pulling into the  _ Lead Mine Motel  _ just outside Red Cliff and Sam, oddly enough, was starving. Parking and hurrying inside without much regard for Dean, Sam headed immediately for the front desk and made little small talk with the clerk. By the time Sam was back with the key to the room, Dean was at the trunk getting their duffles. 

“You okay?” Dean’s interest was piqued at his brother’s odd behavior. 

“Fine. Gonna go track down some food.” Sam tossed the room key to Dean and moved to get back in the car. 

“Hey, Sam.” Dean’s words paused the long-haired man’s actions. “I’m not that hungry. Don’t rush back, okay? Go sit and eat and just...give yourself a break, would ya?” Dean’s eyebrows raised and it indicated his seriousness. 

Sam nodded, a bit embarrassed at how easily Dean had read him. 

“Call me if you hear from Nikki?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah. I’ll let you know. Tomorrow we’ll head over to wherever she said she was stayin.” 

“Everything about this says it’s a trap.” Sam said.

Dean grinned stupidly back.

“Yes it does. But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Go eat.” Dean shooed Sam off and took the duffles to their room. As he was maneuvering the key into the lock along with two duffles on one arm, his phone vibrated in his pocket. 

Rolling his eyes, he ignored the cell until he’d managed to get the door open and the bags on the nearest bed. The phone ceased vibrating and went to voicemail but a new kind of ringing began. Dean’s head was filled with the same loud static from before, but this time it was loud.  _ Really loud.  _ Uncontrollably, the memory of the windows bursting in that gas station from so many years ago flooded his mind; the time he’d heard Cas’ real voice. 

Dropping the phone he’d pulled from his pocket, Dean’s hands went to cover his ears in vain. The action did nothing to block out the painful sound and Dean instinctually shouted out for Cas. Unable to hear the sound of wings folding, Dean was taken aback at the immediacy of the angel’s arrival.

“Dean? DEAN?” Cas shouted as he placed a hand on the hunter’s shoulder. 

“CAS, THERE’S NOISE. SO MUCH FRIGGIN’ NOISE.” Dean’s volume was obscene and Castiel placed a calming hand to the hunter’s head in an attempt to find the origin of the mysterious sounds. Taken aback by the realization he made, Cas stepped away from Dean and knitted his brow. Painfully moaning, Dean drew Castiel back into the moment and rather than touch the suffering man, Cas directed his thoughts towards him. Emerging from the blaring static in Dean’s head was Cas' clear and calming voice. 

“ _ Dean, listen to my voice. You can stop the static if you concentrate on ignoring it. Listen only to my voice. Dean, look around the room, focus on what you see, what you think you should hear. A truck is passing outside, the lights are humming. There’s distant shouting from a room across the parking lot. The ice machine next door is vibrating.”  _ While his lips remained unmoving, Cas led Dean through this odd meditation and eventually the hunter bowed his head; calming silence returning. 

Looking up at the angel with panic in his eyes, Dean demanded an explanation. 

“Cas, was that you talking inside my head?” 

“Yes.” He replied, his voice gravely and reticent 

“Cas, what the hell just happened? Since when did I become an antenna?”

“Dean…” Cas was more than fearful.

“Spit it out, man. What’s wrong with me?” Dean pleaded. “Cas, please.” 

“You can hear it.”

“Hear  _ what?”  _ Dean demanded. 

Cas took a step away from Dean and took a breath. This was certainly the beginning of a new predicament; a predicament that Cas didn’t know how to handle. 

“Angel Radio.” The angel finally confessed. “You’ve been hearing Angel Radio.”

( ) ( ) ( ) 

**A/N: And the (usually non-existent) plot thickens! The feedback I’ve been getting has been wonderful and helps me so much to understand what I do well (and not so well) so I can continue making this story as enjoyable and rewarding as possible!**

**Next chapter the boys will dive into figuring out the angel drama as well as investigating Nikki’s hunt-gone-wrong.**


	14. Traces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the long delay but the new chapter is (finally) here. It took me a while to get through this one and I deeply appreciate your patience. A warm welcome back to returning readers and a special welcome to new ones! Your positivity and commentary continues to inspire and motivate me; once again I cannot convey how happy it makes me that this story is enjoyed. 
> 
> Content/context note: There is reference to events that we heard about very, very briefly back in Chapter 9 with Cas. Everything is explained here and there is no need to re-read but that’s where it began developing for anyone who was wondering.

Back at the room, despite the late hour, the Winchesters and the trusty angel were talking through the newest development. Cas proposed that the most likely scenario was that Michael’s grace was acting as a kind of conduit between Dean and Heaven. Still left in question, however, was why it was only working now. For how many months had the grace been in Dean? And only  _ now  _ it started attracting angel radio? It was too coincidental--- it didn’t make sense. Sam rubbed his hands while sitting at the small table and tried generating questions that would help lead them to answers. 

“Have things been busy in Heaven? Would there be any reason for Dean to be hearing things now?” 

Cas all but shrugged. 

“Not that I’ve been aware of. There’s been tension, sure. But nothing that would explain why Dean would be connected  _ now. _ ” Cas looked to Dean, directing a new line of questions towards him. “Were you able to make out  _ anything?  _ Any voices or words...anything at all?”

“Just static.” Dean offered his one comment but his face turned to a questioning glance. “Well...Sam and I stopped to get coffee and I was kinda spaced out. I thought maybe it was a fit. Felt like I was underwater--- everything got fuzzy. But the humming...I guess it could have been a word? Something like…” Dean thought for a moment, his eyes closing briefly as if it would help him to pronounce the foreign sounds. “ Nir-y-u-ham…?” He questioned it himself. “Seriously, it really just sounded like a low drone.” 

“Are you sure? Niryuham? That’s what you heard?” Cas’ voice suddenly became darker. 

“No, Cas. I’m not sure of  _ any  _ of this.” Dean retorted. 

Breaking the flare of tension, Sam interrupted. 

“Let’s say that’s what he heard. What does that mean?” 

Cas shuffled, indicating uneasiness. 

“It means ‘to extract.’ It’s a branch of ancient Tocharian; any angel using that language isn’t expecting it to be heard.”

“What the hell does  _ that  _ mean?” Dean prodded. 

“I'm gonna go ahead and guess, ‘nothing good.’” Sam answered, for show.

“Angels will speak in many languages but Enochian is our primary means of mass-communication. A way of indicating that everyone should be listening. If that word, in that language, is what Dean heard, then I fear it means Heaven has dissenters. Someone is looking to keep information private, keep it to themselves.” 

“Fan-friggin-tastic. Cause angels with secret-agendas are sure to make our lives easier.” Dean smiled a toothless, facetious grin and Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Well it appears that the angels aren’t the only ones with secret agendas.” Cas’ voice was clearly implying something and his pointed look towards Dean did nothing to convince the hunters otherwise. 

“What did you just say?” Dean bit back.

“Nothing. Never mind.” Cas hardly meant it. 

“What’s with the attitude?” Dean pressed.

“Every time you need me, I’m here. So perhaps---just this  _ once--- _ we can forgive my shortcomings.” Cas stepped in towards Dean and the tension only continued to rise.

“What the hell is up your ass today?” Dean spat.

Finally interrupting, Sam practically had to put his hands up to remind them this shouldn’t be a fight.

“Guys! This is pointless.” Despite the fact that Sam attempted to be a voice of reason,  Cas  still looked hurt. 

Dean took a breath and seemed to calm, looking around the room and reminding himself of the real issues at hand. 

“Sam’s right. Let’s just put our heads down and figure this out.” Dean conceded. 

Cas remained silent. The stiffness in his body released, and he was now standing calmly---tie a bit ruffled as always. Noting the fact that Cas had yet to give in, Dean shrugged and held out his one good arm to indicate he was confused and exasperated by the angel’s stubbornness. 

“What?” Dean’s voice was tired. He was no longer angry, no longer upset. All he wanted was to find a way to recover. 

“You’re walking again.” Cas stated plainly. “Your leg is better.” He specified. Taking a breath, the angel immediately released it as a disappointed sigh. “You didn’t tell me.” 

Putting it together, Dean became a little softer and bowed his head in embarrassment. So that was it. Dean hadn’t bothered to share that his leg had improved and Castiel was feeling excluded, marginalized, and just plain hurt. Sam stayed quiet in his seat and attempted to be a fly on the wall so that Dean and Cas could reconcile from the brief, albeit potent little spat. 

“I was gonna tell you, I was. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna stick and it woulda been worse if I told you and then we went back to square one.” Dean took a breath. “I can’t trust anything these days. Not really. And I guess I kinda put you in that category too. But that’s not fair, I know. I’m working on it. Okay?” 

Cas nodded, suddenly uncomfortable at the tension he’d created. Memories from months ago surfaced in the angel’s mind; how his mere presence caused Dean unease and embarrassment, sometimes even physical pain. Never had the divide between angel and human felt so strong, and never had Cas felt such self-hatred. The wedge that had been driven between them was easily lessening over the past few weeks. Still, there was an underlying sense of betrayal from both parties. For Dean, he resented Cas’ angelic nature; how could his friend be the same kind of creature that had so destroyed him? Why did Cas’ grace have to cause Dean so much discomfort? For Castiel, he felt so rejected. In Dean’s struggle, Cas had been largely precluded from helping; Dean was too sensitive, too embarrassed, too ashamed to let the angel in. How could that be after all they’d been through? The hunter and the angel were working through their changed relationship, but it was not without roadblocks. For now, however, they shelved disagreement and went back to the much larger, more pressing issues at hand. 

“So is there any way for Dean to control this? I mean can he turn it on and off?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t really into the whole banshee-screaming-in-my-head thing.” 

“Angels can turn it on and off but…” Cas trailed off and gestured with his hands that he was at a loss.

“Not an angel.” Dean finished for him, pointing to himself. 

“Cas, is there any recon you could do? Figure out if this was triggered by something?” Sam spoke softly from his place at the small table. 

“Certainly. I’ll ‘work the case’ so to speak.” Cas gave a small grin at his attempts to lighten the moment and was rewarded with Dean’s smile.

“Look at that! Gettin’ the gang back together!” Dean was in relatively high spirits now, but still wanted some clarification from their angel. “So if bells and whistles start goin’ off again how do I mute it?” 

“Focus on other things; sights, smells, try to hear what Sam is saying, or what other noises you know you should be hearing. The goal is to get your mind to change tracks; to focus on  _ your  _ sensory input and not Heaven’s.” 

Dean nodded generically and Cas disappeared from the room. 

The boys spent a minute trying to process all that had transpired before eventually concluding that the moment was better off abandoned. Things had happened too fast and been too overwhelming to process so quickly. Making a joke of it while also signaling that they move on, Dean’s voice broke the brief silence. 

“So if I get their signal do you think they get mine? You think Heaven wants a Foreigner home-concert?” Dean gave a flippant grin and Sam gave one back.

“Just when we thought it couldn’t get any wilder.” The younger man sighed. 

“Hey, speak for yourself. I wake up every day thankful that I don’t have…”

Sam looked on, prompting Dean to finish the thought he clearly hadn’t planned out. 

“Pigeons flyin’ outta my ass? I don’t know! You get the point.”

Sam raised his eyebrows with a grin.

“All I’m sayin’ is that I’m so so so so  _ so very  _ used to things being a cluster that this just doesn’t seem that bad.” Dean threw up his hand in a casual gesture and pulled the comforter of his bed downwards. 

Without more discussion for the evening (what was there possibly to say?) Sam and Dean put off all worry and responsibility until tomorrow. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

“Did you hear back?” Sam nagged.

“Are you planning on being this annoying the whole time?” Dean offered.

After spending the next morning driving around Red Cliff searching for anything remotely their brand of strange, the Winchester’s had come up empty handed. Not only that, but they’d seen no sign of Nikki, and worse, hadn’t heard from her. Real panic was beginning to bloom in the both of them--- especially because they hadn’t even found signs of a case that she hypothetically could have been working. So, about twenty minutes ago Dean had texted “Nikki” saying that he’d arrived in Colorado. Despite his rising panic, Dean attempted to keep his levity up and running. Sam, on the other hand, was anxious and distracted. With all-things-Nikki a dead end and the mysterious development of angel radio, Sam was uncomfortable to say the least. 

In short, he didn’t like it. 

Didn’t like the roads these signs were pointing towards. 

He didn’t like it at all. 

Jarring the both of them was the vibrating of Dean’s phone. Dean spoke the message aloud from the passenger seat.

“ _ Knew you’d come to claim your prize. Meet me at 26 Canary St at 8.” _

Dean finished reading with a tone of equal worry and disgust. 

“Sam, we have no idea what this is; this town is  _ clean.  _ I mean like  _ crystal  _ clean... _ Mr. Clean  _ clean.” 

“I know. And the bar is low. I mean we’ve hunted before on---what? Hunches? Dead plants? But there’s  _ nothing  _ here. There’s no trace of anything.” 

“Hmmm.” Dean’s tone was marked with an underlying (and unusual) hint of curiosity. 

“What?” Sam picked up on the moment without hesitation. 

“Trace.” Dean repeated the word as if it held meaning. “You just said there’s no trace of a hunt.”

“Yeah…” Sam struggled to find Dean’s meaning. 

“Maybe  _ that’s  _ the clue. Maybe whatever we’re dealing with wants to make sure that nothing weird goes down. Doesn’t want any attention…”

“You think whatever’s going on with Nikki is related?”

“And you don’t?” Dean replied.

“Nothing about this feels right. Agreed.”

“Good.” Dean typed a quick message on his cell and Sam nearly let the car drift in his initial burst of fear and anger. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” He demanded. “Did you agree to meet?” 

“What else are we gonna do?” Dean countered, shifting in his seat. 

“Call Cas for one---see if he found anything.”

“If he had he wouldda let us know.” Dean bit back, a little harsher than he intended. 

“Dean, you were hearing angels talking in your  _ head  _ last night. An old friend materializes from out of the blue, works a non-existent case, and is sending you phantom text messages. But no, let’s go blindly meet whatever trap’s in store for us.” Sam’s gaze returned to the road, too shaken to truly argue. 

Rather than initiating a further debate, Dean took a breath and put himself in his brother’s shoes. 

It was one thing to have your life turned upside down. 

It was entirely different to have to not only  _ live  _ that change, but  _ watch  _ it too. 

Not 24 hours ago Sam had watched Dean hear the words on High; hear Heaven’s voicemail. Situation reversed-- Dean watching Sam get sucked into an abyss of mysterious angel crap?-- he’d be scared shitless. 

“Sam.” Dean began, his tone low. “We’ll work it. Just like always. Angel Radio, Nikki...We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

It was what Dean could muster and about the only comforting truth he could generate. He didn’t know  _ how  _ they’d do all this and he didn’t know at what cost answers would come, but  _ trying  _ was just about all they had left. 

“You’re right. Let’s do a little more recon.”

“Alright well the town’s pretty empty. Maybe we should poke around a little further away, see if we can’t find something a little more obvious.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows in general agreement and turned the car around accordingly. 

“Did any of her texts say where she was staying?” Sam asked, eyes fixed on the road.

“No...just that she had a room. Of course ‘she’ isn’t really Nikki, and none of the places in town even have any record of her.” 

Dean’s tone was quickly turning sour and Sam didn’t have to guess why. In fact, he was surprised at how long his brother had kept it together. Between his leg, angel radio and Nikki, it was a miracle he’d managed to stay afloat this long. Sam knew that it was only a matter of time before it began to overwhelm Dean. Driving a little out of town they stopped by a few places; church, police station, hell they even eyeballed the grocery store. All fronts were quiet, calm and normal; it only added to their trepidation. 

“Squeaky friggin clean.  _ Again. _ ” Dean’s patience was growing dangerously thin and his arm was growing increasingly tense. Sam noticed the change in his brother’s posture and behavior---little adjustments that were imperceptible to anyone but Sam. 

“Let’s find the closest hotel and see if they got a record of Nikki.” Dean didn’t pose any alternatives and Sam didn’t dare address his shoulder.

Continuing to drive, after about half an hour, they eventually found a small lodge. Just like every place they’d been to, it was eerily quiet. Two other cars sat in the lot---parked on opposite sides. There was a middle-aged man smoking, leaning against the west side of the building. No lights were on in the rooms visible to them, and there was hardly even a hum of an ice machine. Sam’s spidey senses tingled as they parked and at the same moment, Dean went rigid next to him. The sudden onset of the seizure caught Sam off guard for a fraction of a second. Reaching out to Dean, he went to lean his brother away from the passenger side window. Shocking him much more than the seizure was the fact that Dean’s eyes were alert and roaming; he was very clearly conscious. More than that, he was turning his head towards the leather of the seat, almost as if to bury his head into it. Simultaneously, Dean was trying to talk. Mindful of how unsafe he felt, Sam attempted to help his brother without losing sight of the fact that they were in a potentially lethal situation. They had no idea what was going on in this town and that vulnerability made Sam terrified. 

“Dean? Dean--HEY!” 

Dean’s good hand got brought up to the ear not pressed against the seat and Sam finally realized: it was angel radio again. 

“Do you hear it? Dean?!” Sam spoke loudly to counteract the high volume of Heaven’s frequency. 

“H-here.” Dean hiccuped, still searching for comfort in the seat. 

“You hear the angels?” Sam asked. 

“HERE. She’s h-here. S’he’s not d-dead.”

“Nikki?”

In a split second of distraction---the split second he’d taken to try and understand Dean’s point---Sam had let his guard down. Dean’s eyes widened in panic as the man who’d been smoking began to approach their car. Still in pain, Dean curled further into the bench seat but still managed to cry out a warning to Sam. 

“D-DDRIVE.” 

Sam’s instincts took over and he threw the car into reverse before he’d even laid eyes on the approaching man. Squealing out of the parking lot, Dean threw his arm out to Sam.

“Cas?” Dean asked, though clearly not to Sam. “Cas I can’t… too many friggin sounds. Cas I can’t hear you. Just GET DOWN HERE.” 

All Sam could do was listen; listen and hope that the next hour would bring much-needed answers.

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Cas had materialized in the backseat of the Impala and was able to talk Dean through turning off angel radio once again. Knowing that Dean was drained, Sam insisted they wait to get back to the room before troubleshooting the situation. By the time they were back at the motel it was blatantly obvious that Dean was at the end of his rope. His arm was taught and pressed snuggly against his chest, his movements slower and more deliberate, and most of all his eyes were wild with overstimulation. While the memory pained him, Sam couldn’t help but think back to when Dean had been turned into a vampire. Due to his soulless nature at the time, the memory was clouded with shame; still, Dean’s current panicked demeanor was reminiscent of that time. 

Finally settling on the end of the bed, Dean closed his eyes briefly and barked at Cas to fill them in. Cas himself was frazzled, his tie loose and his stance wary. Stepping into the role of moderator despite his own distractedness, Sam intervened. 

“Dean got another text from the number telling us to meet tonight. We’ve been driving around in circles all day but this town doesn’t even have a cat up a tree.” Sam explained. 

“What?” Cas inquired, tilting his head in concern for something vital he missed. 

“It’s an expression, Cas. There’s no cat.” Dean’s tone was growing bitter. 

“So we found nothing except for when Dean--”

“When my head just about split open and some guy made a beeline over to the car. And then you went all bullhorn in my head.” Dean interrupted Sam’s explanation and stood to confront Cas though his stance was not adversarial. “Please tell us you got something.” The older man pleaded. 

Sam took a moment to process that Cas had been the one---or at least  _ one  _ of the voices---that Dean had been hearing in the car. In that case, Cas most definitely knew something. Proving Sam’s theory correct was the worried, knowing expression on the angel’s face. 

“You remember how I told you an archangel death creates an energy shift?” Cas asked, clearly beginning with broad information. 

“Yeah. What you’ve been dealing with in Heaven for the last six months.” Dean parroted back. 

“Exactly. Most everything has settled down but there was an angel that had been problematic. The others thought it’d been taken care of but I wasn’t so sure. When you started hearing Heaven I went searching for him.” 

“Who is he?” Sam asked. 

“His name is Zadkiel. After Michael’s death he had been vying for power. I’d been keeping an eye on him but others assured me he wasn’t a threat.” 

Cas took a breath. 

“But then I heard him. Earlier at the lodge. His voice. He’s been trying to find you. He thought he could try and tap into your signal, so to speak. But he can’t always control who hears what.”

“What was he saying?” Sam specified. 

“What were  _ they  _ saying.” Cas corrected with gravity. 

“ _ They?”  _ Dean’s voice was thick with concern. 

Both Winchesters subconsciously leaned in towards Cas.

“More angels have joined him, they’re supporting his cause.” 

“His  _ cause? _ ” Sam repeated with confusion. 

“Cas. English, please. What the hell does this mean?” Dean prodded. 

“They want his grace.” Cas paused and swallowed before repeating himself. “Zadkiel and his followers want what’s left of Michael’s grace.” 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

The ugly green room had manifested into a headquarters of chaos as Sam, Dean, and Cas attempted to parse out the situation they found themselves faced with. And on top of their own danger, there was also Nikki’s safety to consider. As much as getting to her was at the forefront of Dean’s mind, he knew that he and Sam would be no good to her if they were walking, talking angel-magnets. They also wouldn’t be of much help if they were dead. From what the brothers could comprehend of Castiel’s hurried and abbreviated story, Zadkiel and his band of brothers were on a mission to retrieve the last remaining remnant of Michael’s grace---the very same grace that was in Dean. 

“Not that it’ll ever get this far but…” Sam took a breath. “But  _ if  _ Zadkiel got his hands on the grace, what is he planning on  _ doing  _ with it?” 

“I don’t know for certain. It wouldn’t be enough grace to power him fully. I can only imagine that he plans to use it as some kind of bargaining card.” 

“Chip.” Dean corrected. “So this angel Zadkiel…?” Dean prompted Cas for a response. 

“He’s leading a group of angels, yes. They’re searching for you, Dean.” 

“If the angels wanted to find us why did they wait this long?” Sam asked.

Cas paced around the room a bit, seemingly confused himself. 

“I’m not sure. It’s possible that Michael’s grace is hiding itself--- shielding you both from being found. But more likely…” Cas paused briefly. “More likely is that they fear Dean is able to harness the power.” 

Unexpectedly, Dean let out a breathy chuckle. 

“Oh yeah...Watch out, here comes Dean Winchester all jacked up on angel juice.” 

“Dean, this is serious.” Cas cut in. 

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.” Dean replied dryly. “Was kinda the first to know.”

Cas swallowed and shifted his weight, a little regretful but not quite remorseful. 

“So they have Nikki. That’s their leverage.” Dean spoke the conclusion that thus far they’d all been too hesitant to verbalize. “This is all my fault. If I’d never said yes to Michael---”

“Stop. Dean, stop it.” Sam’s tone was beyond serious, it was practically dictatorial. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to believe that. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?” 

“Spare me the lecture, Sam. Nikki’s in trouble because of me and---”

“No. No, you’re not doing this! Forget about you, forget about Nikki. You’re not doing this to  _ me. Me.  _ I’m making this about  _ me  _ and I say you’re not allowed to say that. Because if you believe it then everything we’ve done, everything  _ I’ve _ done has been for nothing. And I won’t accept that. So no, Dean, failure is not an option. Get used to it.” 

Sam turned on his heels and left the room but neither Dean nor Cas heard the car’s engine. 

Silence hung once again and Cas opened his mouth to speak but Dean cut in before Cas could form the words. 

“I know. I know he’s right.” Dean let out a breath and rubbed his face before raising his voice to a high volume. “SAM! Quit sulking outside the door and get back in here.” Dean’s tone gave all indication that he was in surrender and soon enough Sam marched back into the room.

“I made my point?” Sam sent Dean a bitchy glare which the older brother kindly returned. 

“Yeah, Council. You can rest your case.” With that, the tension released and game faces resumed. 

“So. Let’s find them. I’m not waiting around to meet on their terms.” Sam spoke with unwavering determination. 

“Our rules.” Dean added. 

“Let’s get this son of a bitch.” Cas’ comment, while it normally would have turned heads and raised eyebrows, was inspiring. It seemed as if Cas---just like Sam---was filling Dean’s role. 

And so the three of them sat in the small room, plotting and planning Nikki’s rescue, waiting for the moment they would face the angels. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

“Warehouse. An abandoned warehouse. You’d think  _ someone, sometime  _ would wanna be original.” Dean’s tone was especially dry.

“Angels are not particularly known for their creativity.” Cas pointed out. 

“Guys.” Sam’s interruption caused both of them to look at him. Sam then gestured his head towards two shadows moving against the side of the building. 

“What time is it?” Sam asked. 

“Seven.” Dean replied. “If they’re here I say we make our move. Cas?” Dean extended the idea to their friend---wanting his opinion.

“Zadkiel isn’t one for surprises.” Cas’ statement was delivered with an edge of humor as he glanced between the two men, knowing the three of them would initiate a siege. Smiling, Dean gave the go-ahead.

“Let’s save the girl.” 

Each armed with an angel blade, Team Free Will walked head-on into a fight they knew they might very well lose; exactly the way they liked it. Odds stacked against them was always how they’d succeeded and they had no reason to believe this time would be any different. The two figures patrolling the outside looked directly at the three of them approaching and Dean shouted out to them while continuing to advance towards the warehouse. 

“Gig’s up, fellas. Go tell your boss the man of the hour is here.”

One of the men glared at Cas--the tilt of his head combative. 

“Castiel. Why am I not surprised…”

“A side effect of loyalty is predictability I suppose. Wouldn’t expect that you’d understand, working for the highest bidder and all.” 

Sam couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised at their angel’s sass. Making a step forward, both of the enemy angels were clearly moved towards violence. Dean’s slow, stern voice stopped them--- their expressions disproportionately fearful. 

“I said to tell General Zod there that we’re here. Go.” 

For whatever reason, the two obeyed. At their departure, Dean shot a worried look to his companions. 

“We can check that off the list.” Dean said quietly. 

“They’re scared.” Sam observed.

“They  _ do  _ believe you can control Michael’s grace.” Cas parroted.

“You think they have Nikki here?” Sam asked.

“For her sake, I hope not.” Dean’s voice had fallen to a whisper and it was clear that he was trying his best not to let anxiety rule his frame of mind.

Before the trio could discuss any further, a new angel appeared at the entrance to the warehouse---a woman this time. Wordlessly, she gestured for them to follow her. 

The warehouse, unsurprisingly, was as grimey, dank, oppressive, and eerie as any other abandoned dwelling. Rounding a corner, the little reserve and stoicism that Dean had was washed away by the sight of a bruised Nikki, gagged and tied to a chair--- her feet in a shallow puddle. Standing beside her was a tall, slender man dressed in shades of form-fitting grey linen. 

Zadkiel. 

“Hello, Dean. Let’s talk.” 


	15. Rescue, Rest, Reset

“Nikki…” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes away from her; he had to keep it together. Cas and Sam were both on the balls of their feet--- ready for combat in an instant. However, Zadkiel’s calm and reserved demeanor suggested that truthfully, they were only going to speak. That being said, Team Free Will would have been fools to believe that; fools they were not. 

“Castiel. What a pleasant surprise. I admit a part of me considered you’d weasel your way into this. Though admittedly I thought my ruse would have been a bit more convincing than I suppose it was. Tell me--- what gave me away?”

“It’s a long list, pal. Where should we start?” Dean attempted to keep up his bitchy small-talk but his jaw was still clenched in trepidation. 

Zadkiel smiled a toothless, shallow grin and Cas took a step closer towards the brothers. 

“I confess, the details got the better of me. My hostage here was a bit more uncooperative than I’d counted on. And of course you were a bit more sensitive to our communications then I’d intended. I hoped using Heaven’s wavelengths would be more of a homing signal on you than a broadcast. But nevertheless you’re here, so I can’t complain in good faith.”

Castiel rolled his eyes slightly before adding his own commentary. 

“Good faith isn’t a concept you fully comprehend.” 

“Bold claim from a fallen angel. Brother, tell me: how do you stand to watch an archangel’s grace be so defiled by the primitive, ill-bred, boorishness of the human?” 

“It seems you  _ still _ have yet to learn your place, Zadkiel. As his Sword, Dean’s meant more to Michael than you ever have.”

“Ahh yes. Dean Winchester. In the flesh. And of course, Sam. It would have been more efficient for God to have made you conjoined twins seeing as you’re already attached at the hip. Though I do suppose that would have made hedonism a bit awkward. Isn’t that right, dear?” 

Zadkiel ever so gently rubbed the back of his index finger over Nikki’s tear-stained cheek and Sam had to hold back his brother’s violent move towards the evil angel. 

“YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING HER AGAIN, I’LL STAB A BLADE THROUGH YOUR THROAT.” 

Nikki whimpered from her confinement and Zadkiel’s small band of rogue angels emerged from their hiding places throughout the building. 

“Quit stalling. What do you want?” Sam’s tone was flat, even, and dark. 

“I want to make a deal so simple in its parameters that even the likes of you can understand. Dean allows me to extract the remaining archangel grace, and I give you back the girl.”

“No, see that’s still a little confusing for me; I’m having trouble understanding at what point I get to kill you.” Dean spat out the threat and felt his arm cramp painfully in response to the stress. 

“No killing. I’m not a barbarian, just a businessman,” he calmly defended. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” Sam’s words were full of venom. 

“Listen. You’re going to let her go and we’re gonna leave. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. That’s it. You lose, you get nothing.” 

Dean’s proposal didn’t go over as planned. 

Zadkiel, in one swift motion, slapped Nikki across the face. Springing into attack, Sam, Dean, and Cas each drew their angel blade and commenced hand-to-hand combat with the various angel henchmen in the room. Sam easily landed a fatal blow to the angel who they’d spoken to outside and Cas managed to overpower the women who’d greeted them at the door. Meanwhile, two angels were working in a tag-team against Dean; with only one arm, he was severely disadvantaged. He managed to land a solid blow to one of them, and to unarm the other, but before Sam or Cas could make it to him in time, his combatants had gotten the better of him. Dragging him over to Zadkiel, Dean was now captive next to Nikki. 

Zadkiel was flustered, his features tightening with anger. 

“You force my hand, I force yours. Care to reconsider?”

“Okay. Fine.” Dean surrendered begrudgingly. 

“Seeing reason, finally.”

Sam rocked onto the balls of his feet and Cas took a beat to survey the number of enemies left. Similarly, Dean seemed to be processing his surroundings. Eyes wandering, Dean was envisioning actions of a battle plan; silently agreeing, Sam and Cas awaited the instigating moment. 

“Take it,” Dean taunted him. “Hand the girl over to my brother and you can have the grace.”

Sam’s eyes went wide but he remained planted; Dean was calling the shots and Sam knew it would be clear when it was time for him to act. 

“Unless of course…” Dean’s tone turned playful, “you still need me in the picture. See the way I figure it, as soon as you got your hands on me you’d just take the mojo. But here I am, still in one piece. Seems like that can only mean one thing.” 

Sam put it together before Dean spoke it aloud.

“You need my permission. I’m still Michael’s vessel, aren’t I...? Needed my permission to get in--- still need it to get out.” Dean spoke calmly, now understanding that he was the one with more leverage. 

“He has to say yes…” Cas muttered his own conclusion and began putting it together for himself. While it was true that Michael was dead, the power of his grace was far beyond that of normal angels. It was a fair theory that it couldn’t simply be created or destroyed--- that power like that did not change hands without conditions. 

If Zadkiel couldn’t force the grace out of Dean, then all they had to do was get out of there. And  _ that  _ was a much more reasonable plan. 

With his bluff having been called, Zadkiel grew incensed. Stepping away from Dean’s side, Zadkiel kicked over Nikki’s chair and she fell to the ground with a painful yelp. 

“Soon enough I’ll have you begging me to take it.” 

Zadkiel made a quick move towards Dean’s captive body and placed his hand on Dean’s forehead; the seasoned hunter threw back his neck with a dark, guttural scream. Sam ran full speed at the body causing his brother so much pain and Cas, too, became militant in his attack against his brethren. Even Nikki, from her prone form on the ground, managed to stretch her leg out far enough, and with enough force, that she was able to unbalance one of the angels holding onto Dean. Just as Sam and Cas reached hitting-distance of their enemies, Dean’s head suddenly snapped forward, headbutting Zadkiel. 

Then, before there was time to react, his green eyes were washed a paler shade and the faint glow of divine blue paused everyone’s actions. 

In this moment of hesitation, Zadkiel and his sympathizers vanished. The echo of unfolding wings was audible in the cavernous acoustics of the warehouse, but it took a moment to process that the danger had departed. 

Dean’s eyes returned to their green hue as the weak pale blue fizzled away. More than unsteady, Dean was listing badly. Sam hunched over to allow Dean’s weight to be taken onto his shoulder; immediately collapsing, Dean went slack in Sam’s embrace. 

“Cas--” 

Sam didn’t have to finish his plea before Castiel had his healing hands on Dean’s head. At contact, Cas went jolting back--- scared by the small mental shock he’d received from the hunter’s mind. 

“I can’t see,” he explained. 

Sam’s stomach turned over with intense nausea but he maintained tunnel vision. 

“Get Nikki. We have to get out of here.”

Moving swiftly to the prone woman, Cas first unbound her hands. Then un-gagging herself, she coughed violently for a short spell. Offering a hand to help her stand, Cas hurriedly explained that he was a friend; an angel, yes, but a friend. Placing two fingers on her hairline, her bruises faded and she returned to full health. Seemingly un-traumatized, she raced to Sam’s side. 

“Keys?” She asked hurriedly, instantly ready to help.

“Left jacket pocket. Same car you know. It’s outside, across the street.” Sam gave short instructions as Cas wedged himself underneath Dean’s other shoulder. Completely out of it, Dean had to be half-carried, half-dragged by the two men.

“What happened?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“GUESS, Cas! What’s your best guess?” 

They continued hauling Dean closer to the exit. 

“The grace. Michael’s grace. It pushed me away just now when I went to look in his head. I think the grace protected itself.”

“He’s not…” Sam couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

“I don’t think so. I think he’s in shock.” 

Reaching the door, Nikki was already there with the car, leaping from the front and ripping the back seat door open. Maneuvering the unconscious man as gingerly as they could, Sam and Cas deposited Dean onto the comforting leather of Baby. Joining his brother in the backseat, Sam told Nikki to drive. 

“Hospital?”

“No, no...uhhhh….” Sam began to fumble. 

“Start driving. I’ll give you directions.” Cas spoke on Sam’s behalf as the younger man cradled his brother in the back seat. Attempting to distract himself, Sam extended questions to Nikki.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I mean...relative to everything...I’m fine.” Her voice was thin. “Is he…” While she’d intended to finish the sentence, the words fell away.

“He has to be.” 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Dean didn’t wake up for two hours. All things considered, it was a more than reasonable time frame. Still, two hours without answers might as well have been two decades. Taking the brunt of the necessary mental energy, Cas directed Nikki towards a location he deemed safe. It was a crowded, more populous hotel; he assured Sam that it would be safe from the angels as they wouldn’t make a move in an area so easily accessible on other celestial beings’ radar. That, and he assured Sam he was able to angel-proof it with the appropriate sigils and warding. So Sam stayed by Dean’s side while Cas watched over Nikki. He got her up to speed (as much as possible, at least) and settled her in an adjoining room. She’d managed to keep it together the entire car ride but she finally succumbed to fragility after settling in her room. After a brief crying spell, Cas offered to use his power to put her to sleep and she was more than grateful for the offer. As Nikki slept, Sam held vigil over Dean. There was painful uncertainty for two hours until finally, in the middle of the night, Dean began to stir. Even before his eyes were open, his lips were moving--- repeatedly mouthing the same thing over and over, trying to generate the proper sound and volume. 

“N-ikki…” 

Releasing hours’ worth of held breaths, Sam practically cried at the relief that flooded him. Adding to his comfort was the opening of Dean’s eyes and the return of their familiar green shade. 

“She’s safe. She’s here. We’re in a room still in Colorado but Cas...Cas put up warding.” Sam didn’t have to put on a show of reassurance---it was more than genuine. 

“Z’zzadkiel…” Dean’s face twisted into more concern.

“He left.” At Sam’s words, Dean seemed to relax though he began fidgeting. In response, Sam proposed the question he’d been waiting hours to ask. “How are you feeling?”

Dean thought for a moment---taking stock of his body and mind. 

“H-how should I feel?” 

“I don’t know…Cas is next door. He can look at you if you want.” 

“I f’eel…” Dean hesitated, swallowing. “Diff’ffer’ent.” 

“Different how?” Sam leaned in a little closer. 

“Not s-sure.” He paused. “Did…? I d-on’t ‘emember much.” 

“Zadkiel got to you...I think he--- he tried to…” Sam struggled. “But he didn’t. You--you didn’t let him hurt you.”

A contemplative look washed over Dean’s face. 

“ _ I _ didn’t let him h-hurt me…? Or  _ it... _ d-didn’t? _ ”  _

Sam’s frown answered Dean’s question.

“Cas thinks it was the grace. Like it was shielding you.”

“Shielding m-me…” Dean swallowed hard, forcing his hiccuping voice to remain steady. “Because I n-need it.”

“We don’t know that.” Sam’s voice was corrective and adamant. 

“‘ss Nikki o’kay?” Dean took a hard turn to redirect the conversation. 

“She’s holding up pretty well all things considered. We should talk to her at some point, though. See if she might have heard anything.”

“L-leave her be f’or a’w-while, would’ya? I wanna uhh… I w’nna t-talk to her f’rst.”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam nodded adamantly.

Adjusting to a more upright position, Dean let out a disgruntled sigh. 

“Your arm?” Sam guessed. 

“Head. It’s p-pounding pr’etty g’ood.”

“Sorry.”

“S-sst’mbling thr’ough m’ w’rds.”  _ Stumbling through my words  _

Dean sat up further and tried to shrug it off. 

“W’t ab’t you--y-ou d’in ‘kay?  _ What about you--- you doing okay?  _

“I’m holding my own.”

“W-what t’me ‘st?”  _ What time is it? _

“A little past two in the morning.” 

“N’kk ‘seepin?”  _ Nikki sleeping?  _

“Yeah. Cas hasn’t let her out of his sight.”

Dean took a look around the room as if he was scanning for intruders; Sam knew it was a reflex but it still reminded him how unsafe and unsure a position they were in. 

“H’ss g’nn be b’ck. W’nt g’ve up t-hat eas’ly.”  _ He’s gonna be back. Won’t give up that easily. _

Sam didn’t know how to respond. 

Dean was right--- Zadkeil would be back. And truth be told neither of them knew what that  _ really meant.  _ Whatever he was planning on using the grace for was obviously bad news, but that wasn’t their main concern. The real question was what would happen to Dean if Michael’s grace was ripped from him. 

Pathetically, it was the very same question they’d been asking for months. Only now it was a question that a heavenly insurgent was asking; a much more terrifying, and much more deadly version of the exact same predicament they’d already been facing. 

“He w’rnd ‘ss ‘bout t’is.”  _ He warned us about this _

“What?”

Dean closed his eyes.

“M’ch’l.”  _ Michael _

Sam’s face contorted. 

“What do you mean?”

“W’n h’ l’ckd m’ ‘way… H’ w’rned ‘ss what w’ld h’ppen ‘f I f’rced h-him o-out. H’ n’ver l’ied. B’out’any ‘ff ‘t.”  _ When he locked me away… He warned us what would happen if I forced him out. He never lied. About any of it.  _

Dean didn’t sound sad. Rather, his tone was almost reverent--- as if suddenly, Michael was worthy of respect. 

Sam felt his chest tightening. 

He’d heard Dean speak like this before. 

On so very many occasions. 

Usually, it went a little more like this… 

_ He told us what we needed to hear, Sam. Nothing more and nothing less. Everything he’s always done has been for the bigger picture. If you can’t see that, it’s your problem, not his. He’s never once pretended that anything was gonna be normal for us--- at least he was always honest.  _

Sam heard Dean’s voice echo in his head; all the instances when Sam heard the same attitude, the same tone, the same cadence, come out of his brother’s mouth. 

It was like he was talking about  _ Dad.  _

Horror crossed Sam’s face. 

Dean was talking about Michael the same way he talked about  _ Dad.  _

“What are you saying, Dean?” Sam spoke very clearly--- trying desperately to understand where this might have been coming from. 

“Mm s’yin I b’r’ght ‘hiss ‘n m’self. On y’ou. I’mm s’yin m’aybe I n’eed t’ o’wn ‘p to t’hat.”  _ I’m saying I brought this on myself. On you. I’m saying maybe I need to own up to that. _

Sam wanted to punch him in the face. 

He wanted to clench his fist, pull back his arm, and clock Dean straight in the nose. Here Dean was, after everything, still living in their old man’s shadow. Honestly believing that  _ somehow  _ he actually deserved this. 

“You’re a selfish bastard.” 

“W’at?”  _ What? _

“It’s the same routine, Dean. The same dance over and over and over again. I sit here, hour by hour, and watch my brother suffer through hell. And it destroys me, Dean! Because you spent your entire life making sure I was safe and happy and I can’t---” Sam’s voice broke. “And it’s like I can’t do the same. Do you know what that feels like? To listen to you sit there and talk about Michael like… like you deserve it? Like I couldn’t---I couldn’t stop it? The same way I couldn’t save you from Hell? From the Mark? From Dad---” Sam’s eyes filled with tears and he didn’t have the energy to wipe the liquid away. 

Dean’s face was washed with realization and guilt; it was never what he meant, but he wanted to take back his words all the same. Reaching his arm out to Sam, he brought his open palm down on Sam’s shoulder. 

“H’y. H’EY” Dean shook Sam’s shoulder, forcing him to look Dean in the eye. “S’mmy. Y-you’ve always b’een en’ough.” 

( ) ( ) ( )

The night went on without activity and come morning, all of them had returned to some degree of patience and level headedness. Dean had yet to see Nikki since her rescue and while he’d been anxious to check-in with her, he couldn’t bring himself to wait any longer. His speech was still a little rough but it had returned decently enough that he was confident she could understand him. If they were under any other circumstances his embarrassment would have barred him from seeing her. But at present he couldn’t afford to let selfish insecurities rule his decision making. 

Standing outside her door, he brought his knuckles up to knock. It was a little past eight in the morning and he was hopeful that he wasn’t waking her.

From behind the door he heard a bump and a very quiet string of curses.

“S’rry. I c’an c-come ba’ck.”

“Dean?” Nikki’s voice seemed to indicate that she was genuinely caught off guard, though definitely not displeased. 

The door opened quickly and Dean was taken aback by how easily old memories resurfaced. While she was clearly older, everything about her spirit was unchanged. Her amber eyes were bright and busy, her short stature still easily misjudged for something taller because of her captivating presence, and her smile, as always, impossibly comforting; one look at her upturned lips and Dean’s hesitation abated. 

“You’re okay…” Her statement was almost a question, though certainly a rhetorical one. 

“G-glad I c’n say the s-sme ab’out you.” Dean turned his lips into a half-grin and relaxed some of the tension in his expression. 

Nikki waved him inside and it was only after settling in a chair that he realized she was wearing an oversized flannel. Only a moment later he noticed the crumpled pile of dirtied, bloodied clothes piled discreetly by the bathroom door. Uncontrollably, flashes of her abused, confined form came back to him. He still heard Zadkiel’s slap against her face ringing in his ears. He’d seen so much destruction and violence--- so much pain and degradation--- but it never got any easier to look at. At least not when it adorned people he loved. 

“Nikki...I’m-m so s’rry.” 

She sat across from him at the table, putting her hands out to wrap around his loose fist. 

“Comes with the territory. It’s okay. Besides, your friend fixed me up. I was very happy to be touched by an angel.” Nikki raised her eyebrows at the dirty undertones of her joke and successfully distracted Dean.

“Oh p’lease d’nt g-give me t’hat v-isual.” 

“Just wanted to see that million dollar smile.” Nikki’s face fell a bit--- she was clearly noticing how very much had changed in him. "You gonna be okay?” 

“P-retty sure I’m s’pposed t’ be a’sking you t’hat.”

She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to one side; he mirrored her movements subconsciously. 

“C’mon, Dean. We’ve always been good at making sure we’re on the same page.”

“L-lots ch’anged.” 

“Has it?” Her voice lifted and became sweeter. “I know I haven’t been around, that I haven’t been in your life for a very long time. But maybe that means I see things a little differently? A little clearer? You’re the same man I knew, Dean. And I won’t get on my Dean Winchester soap box cause god knows you don’t need some old girlfriend explaining why she fell for you. But I  _ will _ tell you that being in that warehouse---getting kidnapped by those things…? I’ve never been so terrified in my life. But when you and Sam showed up, all that fear washed away. I felt safe, Dean. I’ve always felt safe with you.That’s why we lasted as long as we did--- that’s why we had fun. We  _ worked  _ at it. We never took anything for granted. You’re still one of a kind, Mister. And you’re still one hell of a hunter.” 

Dean took a moment to process, to simply stare at the women who’d been one of the few people in his life to change the way he thought about things; one of the few people to drag him away from stubbornness. 

“A-nd you’re s’till p’ersu’asive as e’ver.” 

“As if you ever needed to be persuaded.” Nikki raised her eyebrows and let out a breathy chuckle. 

“W’eeken-nd in P’oint P’leasant?” Dean offered up the memory of one of the few times he’d been reluctant to agree with her.

“I told you it was gonna end badly,” she started laughing, “it might be a great cocktail but sex on the beach is  _ never  _ a good idea.”

Dean’s wide, genuine smile warmed the room but all too soon he was pulled back into their present reality; Nikki was wearing Sam’s shirt because hers was covered in blood, and the only reason they’d reunited was because they’d both found themselves so depressed. In the moment of silence, Dean’s eyes hardened--- resolving himself to revenge for what had happened to her. 

“I pr’omise you I’m g’nna k’ill h’im. I’m g’nna k’ill him f’or what he d’id.”

“Dean--”

“L-let me h’ave this,” he pleaded. 

“Okay.” 

“Ni’kki? C’n I a’sk y’ou s’omethin?”

“Always.” 

“Why’d y-you d’is-sappear?” 

A vacant look clouded her eyes but she wasn’t clearly distraught. She was tempted to make a joke about how kidnapping was a pretty good excuse for disappearance but she knew that wasn’t at all what he’d meant. 

“I got to a point when life didn’t seem worth living. So…” her pitch rose, “I switched lives.” She continued. “And it was the hardest thing I’d done in a very long time, but it worked. I made a new beginning. And when I started missing that other life— life with hunting, life with long weekends spent with Dean, life with decent power lines and takeout food….when  _ that  _ became the life I wanted again, I came back to it. That’s why I hadn't heard about you.” 

“N-not l’ike you were m-missi’ng much.” 

“Missed enough that I couldn’t help.”

Dean leaned into the table and locked on her eyes. 

“You r’emember wh’en y-you t’old me t-that e’very h-hunter h’aas a d-death wish?” 

She looked at him in horror.

“Dean, I never meant--”

“N-noo, no...t-that’s n-not w’hat I m-mean. Y-ou t-s-said on’ce that y-you al’ways n-needed to ma’ke sure that y’ou were r’eally l’iving. A’fter e’verything t-thaat ha-ppened to me I th’ought ‘bout that a l-lot. So you d-did he’lp me, Ni-kki. You re’ally did.” 

A blush crept up her cheeks but she didn’t lean into the vulnerability of the moment; she knew that it wasn’t really his style--- that it would probably make him uncomfortable. Besides which, she was saved from having to formulate a response because a knock at the door interrupted. 

“Nikki?” Castiel’s familiar awkward stance could practically be felt through the door. 

Standing, she opened the door and rubbed the back of her neck just for the sake of having something to do with her hands. Cas noticed Dean’s presence in the room before he acknowledged Nikki in any way. Despite the fact that Cas’ expression didn’t tend to be very emotive, it was clear that seeing Dean up and around alleviated his worries. Becoming aware of Nikki, Cas looked to her with appreciative eyes--- as if he was thankful that she was with Dean at the present moment. While Nikki hadn’t been remotely aware of the scope of what Dean had been through in the last year, she knew that he must have isolated himself. So when Cas looked at her with appreciation, she knew that what Cas was  _ really  _ saying was that he was thankful Dean wasn’t so alone. 

“Hello.” Cas’ voice was unsure that this was the appropriate greeting given the circumstances. Addressing Nikki before Dean he asked, “did you sleep well?” 

“Out like a light. Nice trick you got there.” 

“Dean doesn’t like it,” Cas added. 

“I’ll bet he doesn’t.” She smiled. 

“I’mm r’ght h’ere,” Dean chimed in. 

“Glad you’re up…” Cas clearly wanted to know more but he wasn’t pushing.

“U’p an’ at ‘em.” 

There was a beat. No one knowing what to say.

“I can leave if you two need to talk or---” Nikki began feeling like she was the cause of the awkward, hilted conversation. Proving her wrong was Cas’ response. 

“No, actually I came to speak with you, if that’s alright.” 

“Cas d’nt int’errogate h-her. I t’ld Sam---”

“I know what you told Sam but we can’t wait.”

“Woah, woah what’s going on?” Nikki’s eyes darted between the two of them, suddenly fearful. 

“The angels who took you? They’ll be back. We need to know if you heard anything they may have said about Dean or how they plan to extract---”

“CAS!” Dean’s yell filled the room entirely and now standing, it was hard not to be intimidated by the hunter’s sheer size. “I s’aid we’re n-not talking a’bout that r’ight now.” 

Cas stared at Dean for a moment-- disappointment on his face. Then, without a defense or an explanation, he left the room. Not knowing what to say, Nikki opted for remaining silent. In the space her silence created, Dean spoke.

“I g’tta g’o. S’am w-will check in, g-get you s’ome f-food.”

He moved to the door and Nikki tried to slow him. 

“Dean--”

He held up his hand to stop her approach and spoke one last thing before leaving the room. 

“I’m re’ally glad you’re s’afe.”

And with that, Nikki was left alone in the hotel room, still in Sam’s flannel, and wondering how on Earth an angel in a trench-coat and two wayward brothers would make it through. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
